The Source Theatre.
DEAR MOTHER,—I saw your notice in a newspaper not very long ago,
and this morning I came across it again in the _Dispatch._
Really I don’t know what there can be to “forgive,” and as to
“coming back!”—I have undertaken the management of this theatre,
where rehearsals of _Romeo and Juliet_ have already begun. This
is the little house where Audrey Anderson made her début, and
where Avize Mendoza made such a hit. You could imagine nothing
cosier or more intimate if you tried. Father would be charmed
(tell him, for, of course, he sometimes speaks of me in the long
_triste_ evenings as he smokes a pipe) with the foyer, which has
a mural design in marquetry, showing Adam and Eve in the Garden
of Eden, sunning themselves by the side of a well. They say the
theatre contains a well _beneath the stage_, which is why it’s
known as the Source. I have left, I’m glad to say, the hotel,
which was getting dreadfully on my nerves, for a dressing-room
here, where I pass the nights now: an arrangement that suits me,
as I like to be on the spot. A sister of Ita Iris of the Dream
Theatre keeps me company, so that I’m not a bit solitary. We
understand each other to perfection, and I find her helpful to
me in many ways. She is such an affectionate child and I do not
think I shall regret it. I’ve decided to have half my teeth
taken out by a man in Knightsbridge—some trial to me, I fear;
but, alas, we’ve all to carry our cross! I seem to have nothing
but debts. Clothes, _as well_ as scenery, would ruin anyone.
I’m allotting a little box to you and father for the opening
night, unless you would prefer two stalls?
The other afternoon I “offered my services” and obtained three
curtains at a gala matinée; I wish you could have been at it!
Your devoted Daughter.
I went to the Oratory on Sunday; it was nothing but a blaze of
candles.
Remember me to Leonard and Gripper—also Kate.
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