sort of
reconciliation patched up between husband and wife. But this would
be a somewhat flat piece of cynicism, only justifiable on the ground
taken by the _Telegraph_, that modern actors cannot play, and ought
not to be expected to play, modern tragedy.

The conventional "happy ending" demanded by sentimental critics to
suit the taste of sentimental playgoers, the divided parents left
weeping in each other's arms over the recovered child, would also be
quite possible. But surely even a modern dramatist may for once be
allowed to preserve a grain of respect for nature and dramatic art?
This would be an outrage against both. It would not be decent
comedy, it would be mere burlesque, as sentimentality always is to
the judicious.

The only other alternative I see is the exodus of the wife, with or
without her child; or of the husband, with or without his mistress.
But this would be rank Ibsenism, and outrage British morality, which
would be still more dreadful. Only a "practical dramatist" could cut
the Gordian knot, and at the last moment introduce the erring Mrs.
Tremaine, still charming in the garb of a Sister of Mercy, to bring
down the curtain upon a tableau of Woman returning to her Duty, and
Man to his Morality. And I, alas! am not a "practical dramatist."

Still, if the play had been an experiment, I might have further
experimented with it, and rehandled its ending. But it was not in
its main lines an experiment. It was a thing seen and felt; and so
it must remain, in its printed form, at least--"a poor thing," it
may be, "but mine own!"

After the performance, came the managers, wanting to see the play,
and asking why I had not shown it to them before. Well, it never
occurred to me that any of them would seriously have considered the
production of a piece so far off the ordinary lines. They had not,
like the enterprising Director of the Independent Theatre,
undertaken the dreadful trade of educating the public. As a matter
of fact, they fought shy of a piece in which "the new hysteria" was
studied, and which ended badly, or at least sadly.

_A Comedy of Sighs_, produced at the Avenue last spring, _was_
really an experiment on the taste of the British public. I wished to
ascertain whether a play depending for its interest rather upon
character and dialogue than upon plot and sensational situations,
would be at first tolerated and afterwards enjoyed by an average
audience. Perhaps the experiment was too aud