other time she would be well supplied with money, which slipped
through her fingers like water. She was a true Bohemian, a
happy-go-lucky type of the actors of her time.

From all accounts, she was never very beautiful; but she had an instinct
for strange, yet effective, costumes, which attracted much attention.
She has been described as "a fluttering, buoyant, gorgeous little
butterfly." Many were drawn to her. She was careless of what she did,
and her name was not untouched with scandal. But she lived through it
all, and emerged a clever, sympathetic woman of wide experience, both on
the stage and off it.

One of her admirers--an elderly gentleman named Seymour--came to her one
day when she was in much need of money, and told her that he had just
deposited a thousand pounds to her credit at the bank. Having said
this, he left the room precipitately. It was the beginning of a sort of
courtship; and after a while she married him. Her feeling toward him was
one of gratitude. There was no sentiment about it; but she made him a
good wife, and gave no further cause for gossip.

Such was the woman whom Charles Reade now approached with the request
that she would let him read to her a portion of his play. He had seen
her act, and he honestly believed her to be a dramatic genius of the
first order. Few others shared this belief; but she was generally
thought of as a competent, though by no means brilliant, actress. Reade
admired her extremely, so that at the very thought of speaking with her
his emotions almost choked him.

In answer to a note, she sent word that he might call at her house. He
was at this time (1849) in his thirty-eighth year. The lady was a little
older, and had lost something of her youthful charm; yet, when Reade was
ushered into her drawing-room, she seemed to him the most graceful and
accomplished woman whom he had ever met.

She took his measure, or she thought she took it, at a glance. Here was
one of those would-be playwrights who live only to torment managers
and actresses. His face was thin, from which she inferred that he was
probably half starved. His bashfulness led her to suppose that he was
an inexperienced youth. Little did she imagine that he was the son of a
landed proprietor, a fellow of one of Oxford's noblest colleges, and one
with friends far higher in the world than herself. Though she thought so
little of him, and quite expected to be bored, she settled herself in a
soft armchair t