I assure you, most unaffectedly and cordially, that the dedication of
that book to Mary and _Kate_ (not Catherine) will be a real delight to
me, and to all of us. I know well that you propose it in "affectionate
regard," and value and esteem it, therefore, in a way not easy of
expression.
You were talking of "coming" down, and now, in a mean and dodging way,
you write about "sending" the second act! I have a propogician to make.
Come down on Friday. There is a train leaves London Bridge at two--gets
here at four. By that time I shall be ready to strike work. We can take
a little walk, dine, discuss, and you can go back in good time next
morning. I really think this ought to be done, and indeed MUST be done.
Write and say it shall be done.
A little management will be required in dramatising the third part,
where there are some things I _describe_ (for effect's sake, and as a
matter of art) which must be _said_ on the stage. Redlaw is in a new
condition of mind, which fact must be shot point-blank at the audience,
I suppose, "as from the deadly level of a gun." By anybody who knew how
to play Milly, I think it might be made very good. Its effect is very
pleasant upon me. I have also given Mr. and Mrs. Tetterby another
innings.
I went to the play last night--fifth act of Richard the Third. Richmond
by a stout _lady_, with a particularly well-developed bust, who finished
all the speeches with the soubrette simper. Also, at the end of the
tragedy she came forward (still being Richmond) and said, "Ladies and
gentlemen, on Wednesday next the entertainments will be for _My_
benefit, when I hope to meet your approbation and support." Then, having
bowed herself into the stage-door, she looked out of it, and said,
winningly, "Won't you come?" which was enormously applauded.
Ever affectionately.