when he grew up, should be first a good actor, then an artist of some
originality, and should finally turn all his brains and industry to new
developments in the art of the theater. My daughter has acted also--not
enough to please me, for I have a very firm belief in her talents--and
has shown again and again that she can design and make clothes for the
stage that are both lovely and effective. In all my most successful
stage dresses lately she has had a hand, and if I had anything to do
with a national theater, I should, without prejudice, put her in charge
of the wardrobe at once!

I may be a proud parent, but I have always refrained from "pushing" my
children. They have had to fight for themselves, and to their mother
their actual achievements have mattered very little. So long as they
were not lazy, I have always felt that I could forgive them anything!

And now Teddy and Edy--Teddy in a minute white piqué suit, and Edy in a
tiny kimono, in which she looked as Japanese as everything which
surrounded her--disappear from these pages for quite a long time. But
all this time, you must understand, they are educating their mother!

Charles Reade, having brought me back to the stage, and being my manager
into the bargain, was deeply concerned about my progress as an actress.
During the run of "The Wandering Heir" he used to sit in a private box
every night to watch the play, and would send me round notes between
the acts, telling me what I had done ill and what well in the preceding
act. Dear, kind, unjust, generous, cautious, impulsive, passionate,
gentle Charles Reade. Never have I known anyone who combined so many
qualities, far asunder as the poles, in one single disposition. He was
placid and turbulent, yet always majestic. He was inexplicable and
entirely lovable--a stupid old dear, and as wise as Solomon! He seemed