eyes, with her facial
expression, with gestures; the rest she set down in words freighted
with every variety of intonation. Not once did she rise from that
sofa. The other people were grouped around her, and all they had to do
was to display astonished horror. They made a framework.

You were held in a grip of admiration by the telling effect of this
scene. No other actress could have played it as Miss Tempest did. Her
every meaning leaped over the footlights. Not a word, or the
inflection of a word, escaped attention. It was an absolutely flawless
piece of comedy. The artistic comedy of Rejane lacked the richness and
unction of Miss Tempest's methods. Those who failed to see "The
Freedom of Suzanne" missed a rare treat.

There was very little plot, of course. _Suzanne_ got her divorce by
collusion, in a manner that was a bit surprising in view of the fact
that _Charles_ was portrayed as a man of culture and refinement. In
order to please _Suzanne_, he gave her a good shaking in the presence
of a witness--as grounds for divorce! It was while waiting for the
decree to be made "absolute" that _Suzanne_ naturally discovered her
love for him, and her rooted objection to the attentions of the three
blackguards who were kowtowing before her. This assuredly was not new.
It was merely the popular divorce twist of French playwrights.

In the last act of the play, _Suzanne_ and her husband were
reconciled, and all the improprieties of the earlier acts carefully
smoothed away. "The Freedom of Suzanne" itself, however, did not
matter very much. Sledge-hammer criticism could pulverize it. Poor
little play! It did not merit any obstreperous handling, for it kept
its audience in a state of unreasoning merriment, and it encased Miss
Tempest like the proverbial glove. There is nothing more fascinating
than perfect comedy acting. It is a tonic, the exhilarating effect of
which is invaluable.

Miss Tempest brought over her London leading man, Mr. Allan
Aynesworth, a remarkably good actor of drawing-room roles. The ease
and polish of the "thoroughbred"--and "thoroughbred" is a term that
should replace the played-out "gentleman"--were convincingly shown. G.
S. Titheradge was the other popular London name in the cast. The rest
were adequate, but by no means extraordinary. They taught no lesson of
artistic excellence, but at the fag-end of the season, we were not
clamoring to be taught anything at all. Lessons were the very last
thing in