uction lies in giving
to each act an individuality and interest of its own, without so
rounding it off as to obscure even for a moment its subsidiary, and, in
the case of the first act, its introductory, relation to the whole. This
is a point which many dramatists ignore or undervalue. Very often, when
the curtain falls on a first or a second act, one says, "This is a
fairly good act in itself; but whither does it lead? what is to come of
it all?" It awakens no definite anticipation, and for two pins one would
take up one's hat and go home. The author has neglected the art of
carrying-forward the interest.

It is curious to note that in the most unsophisticated forms of
melodrama this art is deliberately ignored. In plays of the type of _The
Worst Woman in London_, it appears to be an absolute canon of art that
every act must have a "happy ending"--that the curtain must always fall
on the hero, or, preferably, the comic man, in an attitude of triumph,
while the villain and villainess cower before him in baffled impotence.
We have perfect faith, of course, that the villain will come up smiling
in the next act, and proceed with his nefarious practices; but, for the
moment, virtue has it all its own way. This, however, is a very artless
formula which has somehow developed of recent years; and it is doubtful
whether even the audiences to which these plays appeal would not in
reality prefer something a little less inept in the matter of
construction. As soon as we get above this level, at all events, the
fostering of anticipation becomes a matter of the first importance. The
problem is, not to cut short the spectator's interest, or to leave it
fluttering at a loose end, but to provide it either with a
clearly-foreseen point in the next act towards which it can reach
onwards, or with a definite enigma, the solution of which is impatiently
awaited. In general terms, a bridge should be provided between one act
and another, along which the spectator's mind cannot but travel with
eager anticipation. And this is particularly important, or particularly
apt to be neglected, at the end of the first act. At a later point, if
the interest does not naturally and inevitably carry itself forward, the
case is hopeless indeed.

To illustrate what is meant by the carrying-forward of interest, let me
cite one or two instances in which it is achieved with conspicuous
success.

In Oscar Wilde's first modern comedy, _Lady Windermere's Fan_, t