Mrs. Campbell's maid
brought a verbal response. Mrs. Campbell would see Mrs.--Mrs.--was
it Wilcox?--just five minutes, but no more.
"Very well," replied
Mrs. Wilcox. "I can spare five minutes."
On the threshold of
the actress' apartment, she paused, expecting the welcoming smile to which
she is accustomed. It was not in evidence. Mrs. Campbell stood,
regarding her with that especial sort of politeness in look and attitude
which plainly says, "Well, who are you, and what do you want?"
Mrs. Wilcox advanced
and extended her hand . . .
"I believe you did
not make out my name," she said. "I do not write very plainly--I
am Mrs. Wilcox."
Mrs. Campbell bowed
uncomprehendingly.
"I am Ella Wheeler
Wilcox," particularized the poetess.
Then Mrs. Campbell, searching
her memory, found a clew. . . .
"Ah, I believe you
are the lady who said nice things of me in the morning paper? Is
this a call, or an interview?"
"I chanced to speak
of your play in print," Mrs. Wilcox replied, "as it was interesting to
me, but of course you know that my work is--"
"I only know you through
the kind of criticism you gave me in the paper--you see, I am so busy.
What is your work?"
"Why--I--have written
some seventeen books, for one thing . . ."
"But you see I am
seldom in this country," apologized the actress. "I am English."
"Truly," responded
the author, "--the same nationality as King Edward, who had one of my poems
sung at his mother's funeral anniversary, and Queen Alexandra, who selected
another of my poems to send with flowers to Mr. Gladstone's obsequies."
"Really!" said the
actress, interested for the first time. "I must get your poems right
away."
Then, with a woman's
tact, she looked her visitor over. "How sweet your gown is, and how
much you resemble Ellen Terry!"
The two great ladies then sat down for a friendly chat.