"EVERY WOMAN'S PRIVILEGE."
When _Dahlia_ refused the hand of a wealthy middle-aged nut, with
faultless knickerbockers and a gift for lucubrated epigrams, preferring
to throw in her lot (platonically) with a young and penniless social
reformer, we took no notice of those who feared a scandal ("scandals are
not what they were," as she said), nor of the girl's assertion that she
had no use for the alleged romance of marriage. We were confident that
the little god whose image, with bow and arrow, stood in the garden of
_Dahlia's_ ancestral home, would put things right for us in the end. Yet
we were not greatly annoyed when he made a mess of his business and
married her to the wrong man; for in the meantime such strange things
had been allowed to occur and the right man had proved such a
disappointment that we didn't much care what happened to anybody.
It was the rejected lover, _Mortimer Jerrold_, who conceived two bright
ideas for conquering her independence of mind, apparently for the
benefit of his rival. First he contrived to get _Harold Glaive_, the
young socialist, selected as a candidate for Parliament, hoping (if I
read the gentleman's motive rightly) that his probable failure would
touch the place where her heart should have been. This scheme did not go
very well, for he was chosen to contest the seat held by _Dahlia's_ own
father (which caused a lot of trouble), and in the result beat him.
Meanwhile _Jerrold_ had had an alternative brain-wave. He thought that
if he pinched the latchkey of _Dahlia's_ Bloomsbury flat, broke in at
night, and made a show of assaulting her modesty he could prove to her
that she was only a poor weak woman after all. Nothing, you would say,
could well have been more stupid. Yet, according to Mr. HASTINGS
TURNER'S showing (and who were we to challenge his authority?) it came
off. We were, in fact, asked to believe that a girl who had protested
her freedom from all sense of sex was suddenly made conscious of it by
the violence of a man whose advances, when decently conducted, had left
her cold; and from that moment developed an inclination to marry him. An
assault by a tramp or an apache would apparently have served almost as
well for the purpose. If this is "Every Woman's Privilege" it is
fortunate that so few of them get the chance of exercising it.
Miss MARIE LÖHR herself came very well out of a play that can hardly add
to the author's reputation. Her personality lent itself to a part which
demanded a blend of feminine charm with a boyish contempt for romance.
And she had a few good things to say. It was not Mr. HALLARD'S fault if
he failed to win our perfect sympathy for a hero whom the heroine
addressed as "Spats." As for Mr. BASIL RATHBONE, who played the part of
_Harold Glaive_, I cannot imagine why he took it on. Apart from his
timorous declaration of love, conveyed on a typewriter, there was no
colour in it, and nothing whatever to show why his passion petered out.
I think that the author, in his surprise at the success of _Harold's_
rival, must have forgotten all about it. Mr. HERBERT ROSS was excellent
as _Dahlia's_ father, a pleasantly futile baronet under the thumb of a
sour-tongued managing female, an old-fashioned part in which Miss HELEN
ROUS has nothing to learn. Miss VANE FEATHERSTON, as the lady who
finally absorbed the baronet, did her little gratuitous piece all right.
I cannot get myself to believe that all these intelligent actors are
under any illusion as to the merits of the comedy. With the best wishes
in the world for the success of Miss MARIE LÖHR'S enterprises, I am
bound to regard it as yet another instance of a play where the
attractions of the leading part have a little deranged the judgment of
the actor-manager.