Illustration: MR. WILLIAM TERRISS.]

The theatre itself is deserted save by some ghostly caretaker who
glides noiselessly through the shadowy gloom, sliding a brush over the
upholstery without looking at it, and replacing each covering as she
goes. On the stage are two gentlemen wearing picturesque soft hats, and
long coats which reach to within half-a-foot of the ground. The taller
of the two, Mr. Henry Irving, wears a light drab-coloured coat and dark
hat; Mr. William Terriss is attired in a light hat and dark coat. In the
centre of the stage, close to the foot-lights, stands a screen; behind
the screen is a chair. To the left of the stage (as you look at it from
the stalls) is placed a small table with a big gilt cross on it. On the
extreme right there is another small table laden with papers, plans of
the stage, and letters. At the back of the stage are grouped numerous
male "supers," clad in ordinary morning costume and wearing the
inevitable "bowler" hat, which does not harmonise very well with the
huge spears they carry. It is the scene in the second act of the late
Poet Laureate's "Becket," "The Meeting of the Kings," and Mr. Irving is
busily engaged grouping some fifty people who are required to pose as
barons, French prelates, and retainers. When he has done this, there is
still something wanted to complete the picture. Two pages are lacking.
"Where's Johnny?" asks Mr. Irving, and "Johnny" appears. Mr. Irving eyes
him critically. "I'm afraid you're too big, Johnny," he says, and
"Johnny" disappointedly makes way for a smaller boy.

Mr. Irving stands well in the centre of the stage, absorbing every
detail. The French bishops are huddled too near together, and he groups
them more naturally. _Becket's_ mortal foes, _Fitzurse_, _De Brito_,
_De Tracy_, and _De Morville_, are moved lower down towards the
audience, so that they can go "off" with greater effect when jeering at
_Becket_.

[Illustration]

The cameo-cut outlines of Mr. Irving's fine serious features are plainly
visible as he turns to look at the wings. "I don't see any necessity for
having these 'wings' so forward," he declares, and the wings at once
slide gently back, moved by some invisible agency. In response to Mr.
Irving's request for another alteration in the scenery (he speaks with
an utter absence of effort in a voice which can be heard at the other
end of the theatre, although it does not appear to be raised above a
conversational pitch), a