“I am growing downright stupid—­I can’t work at all, nor think of anything.  Will my wits ever come back to me?

“And when are you coming back—­when will the Lyceum be in its rightful hands again?  I refuse to go there till you come back....”

* * * * *

“Dear Lady,—­

“I have finished four pictures:  come and tell me if they will do.  I have worked so long at them that I know nothing about them, but I want you to see them—­and like them if you can.

“All Saturday and Sunday and Monday they are visible.  Come any time you can that suits you best—­only come.

“I do hope you will like them.  If you don’t you must really pretend to, else I shall be heartbroken.  And if I knew what time you would come and which day, I would get Margaret here.

“I have had them about four years—­long before I knew you, and now they are done and I can hardly believe it.  But tell me pretty pacifying lies and say you like them, even if you find them rubbish.

“Your devoted and affectionate

“E.B.-J.”

I went the next day to see the pictures with Edy.  It was the “Briar Rose” series.  They were beautiful.  The lovely Lady Granby (now Duchess of Rutland) was there—­reminding me, as always, of the reflection of something in water on a misty day.  When she was Miss Violet Lindsay she did a drawing of me as Portia in the doctor’s robes, which is I think very like me, as well as having all the charming qualities of her well-known pencil portraits.

The artists all loved the Lyceum, not only the old school, but the young ones, who could have been excused for thinking that Henry Irving and I were a couple of old fogeys!  William Nicholson and James Pryde, who began by working together as “The Beggarstaff Brothers,” and in this period did a poster of Henry for “Don Quixote” and another for “Becket,” were as enthusiastic about the Lyceum as Burne-Jones had been.  Mr. Pryde has done an admirable portrait of me as Nance Oldfield, and his “Irving as Dubosc” shows the most extraordinary insight.

“I have really tried to draw his personality” he wrote to me thanking me for having said I liked the picture (it was done after Henry’s death)....  “Irving’s eyes in Dubosc always made my hair stand on end, and I paid great attention to the fact that one couldn’t exactly say whether they were shut or open.  Very terrifying....”

Mr. Rothenstein, to whom I once sat for a lithograph, was another of the young artists who came a good deal to the Lyceum.  I am afraid that I must be a very difficult “subject,” yet I sit easily enough, and don’t mind being looked at—­an objection which makes some sitters constrained and awkward before the painter.  Poor Mr. Rothenstein was much worried over his lithograph, yet “it was all right on the night,” as actors say.

“Dear Miss Terry,—­