'run' ideals, a play _must_ be very
general in its appeal, and with such conditions it is folly for us to
quarrel. We must have our own little theatre wherein we can play the
subtler phases of American life--the phases we both rejoice in. If
_Alessandra_ should pay my debt to you--- you see how my mind comes back
to that thought--we will use it to build our own temple of art. As I
think of you there, toiling without me, I am wild with desire to return
to be doing something. I am ready now to turn my hand to any humble
thing--to direct rehearsals, to design costumes, anything, only to be
near you. One word from you and I will come."

To this she replied: "No; on the contrary, you must stay a week longer.
We have postponed the production on account of some extra scenic effect
which Hugh wishes to perfect. They profess wonder now at your knowledge
of scenic effect as well as your eye for costume and stage-setting. Your
last letter disturbed me greatly, while it pleased me. I liked its tone
of boyish enthusiasm, but your directness of speech scared me. I'm
almost afraid to meet you. You men are so literal, so insistent in your
demands. A woman doesn't know what she wants--sometimes; she doesn't
like to be brought to bay so roundly. You have put so much at stake on
_Alessandra_ that I am a-tremble with fear of consequences. If it
succeeds you will be insufferably conceited and assured; if it fails we
will never see you again. Truly the life of a star is not all glitter."

This letter threw him into a panic. He hastened to disclaim any wish to
disturb her. "If you will forgive me this time I will not offend again.
I did not mean to press for an answer. I distinctly said that at
present I have no right to do so. I daren't do so, in fact. I send you,
under another cover, the youthful play which I call _The Morning_. Isn't
that fanciful enough? It means, of course, that I am now just reaching
the point in my life where the man of thirty-odd looks back upon the boy
of eighteen with a wistful tenderness, feeling that the mystery of the
world has in some sense departed with the morning. Of a certainty this
idea is not new, but I took a joy in writing this little idyl, and I
would like to see you do 'the wonderful lady I see in my dreams.' Can
you find an actor who can do my lad of 'the poetic fancy'?"

She replied to this: "Your play made me cry, for I, too, am leaving the
dewy morning behind. I like this play; it is very tender