this warm-hearted, courageous woman compels me to praise her whenever her name is mentioned, and to recall to the remembrance of everybody that she is the one woman in London society whose thought for art extends beyond the narrow range of ordering a portrait to be painted and setting on foot an intrigue for the hanging of it in the National Gallery. I stop without having said all, Barker, for I would tell you that the performance given by the Phoenix of Love for Love revealed to a select London audience the unsuspected fact that we have once more amongst us a great comedy actress—Athene Seyler.
Barker: A very remarkable actress—
Moore: No more than remarkable in the trashy comedies you have seen her in, but in a masterpiece she is easily the greatest comedy actress I have ever seen, and I have seen many great comedy actresses.
Barker: I regret that you did not write about her and Congreve.
Moore: All, but you, who could appreciate one and the other were in the theatre.
Barker: It is true that I have ceased to be a Londoner. All the more reason why you should write about the Phoenix.
Moore: My article need not go to Devon for you to read it. You can hear it in this room, if you like. Your cigar is not yet finished?
Barker: I am only half way through the excellent cigar you have given me, and have little hope that its excellence can be enhanced by silence. All the same, read. I am listening.
Moore: I have poured my memories into the ear of an imaginary journalist.
Barker: Read. My cigar is burning excellently well.
Moore (reading):
Maid: A gentleman from the Observer has called, sir. Will you see him?
Moore: Yes, I'll see him.
Maid: Mr Deacon.
Moore: No, I'm not busy, Mr Deacon. I am never too busy to talk about art. Let me give you a chair, and when you are seated you'll put questions to me. But before you put the first will you allow me to talk to you a little while about the mysterious disappearance of the nine Muses from England; indeed, I might say from the
