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It is more of a bloody curse. I have delivered over your other presents to Alsager and G. Dyer, A., I am sure, will value it and be proud of the hand from which it came. To G.D. a poem is a poem, his own as good as anybody's, and, God bless him! anybody's as good as his own; for I do not think he has the most distant guess of the possibility of one poem being better than another.
What I meant to say was that great as is your suspense about your play, your suspense about your actress is greater still." "I can only repeat that my actress IS my play." Mrs. Alsager looked thoughtfully into the teapot. "Your actress is your " "My what?" the young man asked, with a little tremor in his voice, as his hostess paused. "Your very dear friend. You're in love with her at present."
In dropsy the native doctors cut the body to let out the water, as we do. Wrote letters to Mr. Alsager, Colonel Warrington, and others. People grumbling about their letters being too high charged. Formerly letters went free to Tripoli. The Turkish post-office and policy never fail to make things worse.
Alsager concerned him little today; the thing that was relevant was that they would do nothing for HIM. That charming woman felt humbled to the earth, so little response had she had from the powers on which she counted. The two never talked about the play now, but he tried to show her a still finer friendship, that she might not think he felt she had failed him.
"Your dissimilarity. She has your face, your air, your voice, your motion; she has many elements of your being." "Then she'll damn your play!" Mrs. Alsager replied. They joked a little over this, though it was not in the tone of pleasantry that Wayworth's hostess soon remarked: "You've got your remedy, however: have her done by the right woman."
"But fancy the patience I shall want, and how I shall have to watch and wait," said Allan Wayworth. "Do you see me hawking it about London?" "Indeed I don't it would be sickening." "It's what I shall have to do. I shall be old before it's produced." "I shall be old very soon if it isn't!" Mrs. Alsager cried. "I know one or two of them," she mused. "Do you mean you would speak to them?"
When they said "she," in these days, they always meant Violet Grey, though they pretended, for the most part, that they meant Nona Vincent. "Oh yes," Wayworth assented, "she wants so to!" Mrs. Alsager was silent a moment; then she asked, a little inconsequently, as if she had come back from a reverie: "Does she want to VERY much?"
It had no application, in the compromise of practice; it didn't apply even to his play, which he was conscious he had already outlived and as to which he foresaw that, in the coming weeks, frequent alarm would alternate, in his spirit, with frequent esteem. Loder, who was as charming as Mrs. Alsager had announced, struck him as the genius of hospitality.
The opportunity to talk of some of these in Grosvenor Place corrected perceptibly the immense inconvenience of London. This inconvenience took for him principally the line of insensibility to Allan Wayworth's literary form. He had a literary form, or he thought he had, and her intelligent recognition of the circumstance was the sweetest consolation Mrs. Alsager could have administered.
Alsager, smiling gratefully, and she answered him with a smile from eyes still charmed and suffused. "Yes, the vulgarity will begin now," he presently added. "You'll suffer dreadfully." "I shall suffer in a good cause." "Yes, giving THAT to the world! You must leave it with me, I must read it over and over," Mrs.
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