mediaeval romance. In fact I am free to confess that I
disagreed with _Melisande_ and preferred him in his golf-clothes. But
perhaps that was part of the idea, and Mr. MILNE meant me to feel like
that. Miss BARBARA HOFFE'S _Melisande_--a difficult part, because she
was the only other-worldly person in the play and the only one in
desperate earnest--was very cleverly handled. In her most exalted
moments of poetic rapture she was never too precious, and when called
upon for a touch of corrective humour was quick to respond.

Miss LOTTIE VENNE laid herself out in her inimitable way for a broad
interpretation of the visionary's very earthly mother; indeed once or
twice she almost laid herself out of the picture; but she still remained
irresistible. As a pair of light-hearted young lovers Miss DOROTHY
TETLEY and Mr. JOHN WILLIAMS played really well in parts that were not
nearly so easy as they looked. And there was the dry humour of Mr.
BROMLEY-DAVENPORT, as the father (I fear he must have missed the romance
of twin souls) and the open-air charm of Mr. NICHOLSON'S performance as
_Gentleman Susan_, the pedlar. In a word, my grateful compliments
embrace as good a cast as ever caught--and held--the spirit of an
author.

"PRISCILLA AND THE PROFLIGATE."

When you have been jilted by _Cynthia_ at the church-door and, two days
afterwards, in a fit of pique marry _Priscilla_ at sight (of course you
can't always get a _Priscilla_ to consent to this arrangement; but _Mr.
Bensley Stuart Gore_ had a young ward at school who wanted her freedom;
so that was all right), you may think to persuade the Faithless One that
you have given solid proof of your indifference to her. But you mustn't
dash off to Africa an hour after your wedding with the declared
intention of being eaten by wild men or wilder beasts, because, if you
do that, you give your scheme away and _Cynthia_ will have the
satisfaction of knowing that she has driven you to desperate courses.
Yet that is what _Mr. Bensley Stuart Gore_ did (he was the "Profligate"
of the title, though he never gave any noticeable sign of profligacy).

After this strain on my credulity I felt prepared for anything, and was
not in the least surprised to find him, six years older and still
intact, on the terrace of the Hotel Casa Bellini, by the dear old shores
of Lake Maggiore, which, as the programme advised me, is in Italy. It
seemed, too, the most natural thing in the world that the author, Mis