It may not unreasonably be contended, I think, that, when an exposition cannot be thoroughly dramatized—­that is, wrung out, in the stress of the action, from the characters primarily concerned—­it may best be dismissed, rapidly and even conventionally, by any not too improbable device.  That is the principle on which Sir Arthur Pinero has always proceeded, and for which he has been unduly censured, by critics who make no allowances for the narrow limits imposed by custom and the constitution of the modern audience upon the playwrights of to-day.  In His House in Order (one of his greatest plays) Sir Arthur effects part of his exposition by the simple device of making Hilary Jesson a candidate for Parliament, and bringing on a reporter to interview his private secretary.  The incident is perfectly natural and probable; all one can say of it is that it is perhaps an over-simplification of the dramatist’s task.[3] The Second Mrs. Tanqueray requires an unusual amount of preliminary retrospect.  We have to learn the history of Aubrey Tanqueray’s first marriage, with the mother of Ellean, as well as the history of Paula Ray’s past life.  The mechanism employed to this end has been much criticized, but seems to me admirable.  Aubrey gives a farewell dinner-party to his intimate friends, Misquith and Jayne.  Cayley Drummle, too, is expected, but has not arrived when the play opens.  Without naming the lady, Aubrey announces to his guests his approaching marriage.  He proposes to go out with them, and has one or two notes to write before doing so.  Moreover, he is not sorry to give them an opportunity to talk over the announcement he has made; so he retires to a side-table in the same room, to do his writing.  Misquith and Jayne exchange a few speeches in an undertone, and then Cayley Drummle comes in, bringing the story of George Orreyd’s marriage to the unmentionable Miss Hervey.  This story is so unpleasant to Tanqueray that, to get out of the conversation, he returns to his writing; but still he cannot help listening to Cayley’s comments on George Orreyd’s “disappearance”; and at last the situation becomes so intolerable to him that he purposely leaves the room, bidding the other two “Tell Cayley the news.”  The technical manipulation of all this seems to me above reproach —­dramatically effective and yet life-like in every detail.  If one were bound to raise an objection, it would be to the coincidence which brings to Cayley’s knowledge, on one and the same evening, two such exactly similar misalliances in his own circle of acquaintance.  But these are just the coincidences that do constantly happen.  Every one knows that life is full of them.