had been accepted.

Nothing was talked of day or night but that scene, and those of the
company who were Catholics were particularly excited, and they cried:
"Why, if we find it so repellant, what on earth will an audience think of
it?"

Some prophesied hisses, some that the people would rise and leave the
theatre. That Mr. Daly was uneasy about its effect he did not attempt to
hide, and one day he said to me: "I think I'll call on Father X---- (his
confessor and friend) to-morrow evening, and get his--well--his opinion
on this matter." But, unfortunately, rumors had already reached churchly
ears, and the reverend gentleman came that same day to inquire of Mr.
Daly concerning them. I say "unfortunately," because Mr. Daly was a
masterful man and resented anything like interference. Had he been
permitted to introduce the matter himself, no doubt a few judicious
words from the priest would have induced him to tone down the
objectionable speech and action: but the visit to him rubbed him the
wrong way and aroused every particle of obstinacy in him. He described
the play, however, assured his old friend there were no religious
arguments, no homilies in it, but when he came to _the_ scene, the
Father shook his head: "No--no! my son!" said he, "I do not see how that
can be sanctioned."

Mr. Daly reasoned, argued, almost pleaded; but though it evidently hurt
the good man to refuse, since he was greatly attached to his son in the
church, he still shook his head and at last declared it was a serious
matter, and he would have to bring it to the Bishop's attention. But that
was just what Mr. Daly did not want. "Can you not see, Father," he said,
"these lines are spoken in a frenzy? They come from the lips of a woman
mad with grief and trouble! They have not the value or the consequence of
words spoken by a sane person!"

The priest shook his head. Suddenly Mr. Daly ceased his arguments and
persuasions. After a little silence, he said: "You cannot sanction this
scene, then, Father?"

A positive shake of the head. Mr. Daly looked pensively out of the
window.

"Too bad!" he sighed, "too bad!"

The kind old man sighed too, companionably.

"You see, if that scene is not done, the play cannot be done."

"Dear, dear!" murmured the priest.

"And if the play is not done, having nothing else at hand, I shall have
to close the season with the old play, and naturally that will mean bad
business."

"Too bad, too bad!" muttered th