Pearl Craigie had a man’s intellect—­a woman’s wit and apprehension.  “Bright,” as the Americans say, she always managed to be even in the dullest company, and she knew how to be silent at times, to give the “other fellow” a chance.  Her executive ability was extraordinary.  Wonderfully tolerant, she could at the same time not easily forgive any meanness or injustice that seemed to her deliberate.  Hers was a splendid spirit.

I shall always bless that little play of hers which first brought me near to so fine a creature.  I rather think that I never met any one who gave out so much as she did.  To me, at least, she gave, gave all the time.  I hope she was not exhausted after our long “confabs.” I was most certainly refreshed and replenished.

The first performance of “Journeys End in Lovers’ Meeting” she watched from a private box with the Princess of Wales (our present Queen) and Henry Irving.  She came round afterwards just burning with enthusiasm and praising me for work which was really not good.  She spoiled one for other women.

Her best play was, I think, “The Ambassador,” in which Violet Vanbrugh (now Mrs. Bourchier) played a pathetic part very beautifully, and made a great advance in her profession.

There was some idea of Pearl Craigie writing a play for Henry Irving and me, but it never came to anything.  There was a play of hers on the same subject as “The School for Saints,” and another about Guizot.

“February 11, 1898.

“My very dear Nell,—­

“I have an idea for a real four-act comedy (in these matters nothing daunts me!) founded on a charming little episode in the private lives of Princess Lieven (the famous Russian ambassadress) and the celebrated Guizot, the French Prime Minister and historian.  I should have to veil the identity slightly, and also make the story a husband and wife story—­it would be more amusing this way.  It is comedy from beginning to end.  Sir Henry would make a splendid Guizot, and you the ideal Madame de Lieven.  Do let me talk it over with you.  ‘The School for Saints’ was, as it were, a born biography.  But the Lieven-Guizot idea is a play.

“Yours ever affectionately,

“PEARL MARY THERESA CRAIGIE.”

In another letter she writes: 

     “I am changing all my views about so-called ‘literary’ dialogue.  It
     means pedantry.  The great thing is to be lively.”

“A first night at the Lyceum” was an institution.  I don’t think that it has its parallel nowadays.  It was not, however, to the verdict of all the brilliant friends who came to see us on the first night that Henry Irving attached importance.  I remember some one saying to him after the first night of “Ravenswood”:  “I don’t fancy that your hopes will be quite fulfilled about the play.  I heard one or two on Saturday night—­”

“Ah yes,” said Henry very carelessly and gently, “but you see there were so many friends there that night who didn’t pay—­friends.  One must not expect too much from friends!  The paying public will, I think, decide favorably.”