I had not gone far when the lady interrupted with, "Thanks so much; let us change the subject."
She simply dumped Niagara Falls on me; so when I was presented with a similar opportunity to tell Miss Maude Adams how highly I thought of her, I felt something more than my usual diffidence. It was the last night of the long run of "What Every Woman Knows" at the Empire Theater and my first and last opportunity of seeing it. I never have witnessed such emotional adulation in the theater. It was hysterical. Her devotees pelted the stage with flowers and enforced so many curtain calls that the last act did not begin until 11:08 P.M.
After the show I went backstage to see Richard Bennett, who was supporting Miss Adams in the Barrie piece. A mob of three hundred women and men was standing in a drizzling winter rain at the stage door in the hope of being able to touch Miss Adams' hand or dress as she left the theater, and the ogre, Alf Hayman, was at his perpetual task of guarding her from the approach of any one. No great actress, or minor actress for that matter, ever has led such a secluded life as the girl who was
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