It began to dawn on me what it all meant The acting, , was delicately-strung nervous system always, , been too amenable suggestions circumstances Night after night of concentrated attention conventional attitudes and intonation English stage was gradually affecting my speech and carriage giving way infection of sympathetic imitation Night after night my plastic nervous system took the print of some new amazing gesture, some new emotional exaggeration--and retained it kind of theatrical veneer threatened to plate over and obliterate my private individuality altogether myself in kind of vision Sitting one night, my new self seemed to glide, posing and gesticulating, across the room He clutched his throat, he opened his fingers, he opened his legs in walking like high-class marionette He went from attitude to attitude clockwork Directly an ineffectual attempt to resign my theatrical work But Barnaby persisted in talking Polywhiddle Divorce all the time , and get no opportunity of saying what I wished

And then Delia's manner began towards me The ease intercourse vanished she was learning to dislike me I grinned, and capered, and scowled, and posed at her in thousand ways, and knew--with what voiceless agony ! --that it all the time I tried to resign again, and Barnaby talked about "X" and "Z" and "Y" New Review, and strong cigar to smoke, and so routed me And then I walked up the Assyrian Gallery manner of Irving to meet Delia, and so precipitated the crisis

"Ah ! --_Dear ! " , with more sprightliness and emotion in my voice than had ever been in all my life before I became (to my own undoing) Dramatic Critic

She held out her hand rather coldly, scrutinising my face as she did so I prepared, with new-won grace, to walk by her side "Egbert," she said, standing still, and thought Then she looked at me

nothing coming I tried the old Egbert Craddock Cummins of shambling gait and stammering sincerity, whom she loved, but even as new thing, thing of surging emotions and mysterious fixity--like no human being that ever lived, except stage "Egbert," she said, " yourself "

"Ah ! " Involuntarily I clutched my diaphragm and averted my head (as way )

"There ! " she said

"_What ? " , whispering in vocal italics-- how it--turning on her, perplexity on face, right hand down, left on brow quite well what she meant quite well the dramatic unreality behaviour But I struggled against it in vain "What ? " , and, in kind of hoarse whisper, "I don't understand ! "

She really looked she disliked me "What keep on posing for ? " she said "I don't like it You didn't use to "

"Didn't use to ! " slowly, repeating this twice I glared up and down the gallery with short, sharp glances " alone," swiftly "_Listen ! " I poked my forefinger towards her, and glared at her " under curse "

her hand tighten upon her sunshade " under some bad influence or other," said Delia " give it up I never knew anyone change done "

"Delia ! " , lapsing pathetic "Pity me, Augh ! Delia ! _Pit_--y me ! "

She eyed me critically "_Why you keep playing the fool like this I don't know," she said "Anyhow, I really cannot go about with man who behaves us both ridiculous on Wednesday Frankly, I dislike you, now I met you here you so--as it's only place where we of being alone together----"

"Delia ! " said I, with intensity, knuckles of clenched hands white "You don't mean----"

" ," said Delia "A woman's lot is sad enough best of times But ----"

I clapped my hand on my brow

"So, good-bye," said Delia, without emotion

"Oh, Delia ! " "Not this ? "

"Good-bye, Mr Cummins," she said

By violent effort I controlled myself and touched her hand I tried some word of explanation to her She looked into my working face and winced " ," she said hopelessly Then she turned from me and began walking rapidly down the gallery

Heavens ! How the human agony cried within me ! I loved Delia But nothing found expression-- already too deeply crusted with my acquired self

"Good-baye ! " at last, watching her retreating figure How I hated myself for doing it ! After she had vanished, I repeated in dreamy way, "Good-baye ! " looking hopelessly round me Then, with kind of heart-broken cry, I shook my clenched fists air, staggered pedestal of winged figure, buried my face in my arms, and made my shoulders heave Something within me said "Ass ! " as so (I had the greatest difficulty in persuading the Museum policeman, who was attracted by my cry of agony, that not intoxicated, but merely suffering from transient indisposition )

But even this great sorrow availed to save me from my fate it; everyone sees it: I grow more "theatrical" every day And no one more painfully aware pungent silliness of theatrical ways The quiet, nervous, but pleasing E C Cummins vanishes save him driven like dead leaf winds of March My tailor even enters spirit disorder He has peculiar sense of fitting I tried dull grey suit this spring, and he foisted brilliant blue upon me, and he has put braid down the sides new dress trousers My hairdresser insists upon giving me "wave "

beginning to associate with actors I detest them, but only in their company that feel not glaringly conspicuous Their talk infects me growing tendency to dramatic brevity, to dashes and pauses in my style, to punctuation of bows and attitudes Barnaby has remarked it too I offended Wembly by calling him "Dear Boy" yesterday I dread the end, but escape

The fact is, being obliterated Living grey, retired life all my youth, theatre delicate sketch of man, thing of tints and faint lines Their gorgeous colouring has effaced me altogether People forget mode of expression, method of movement, are matter of contagion heard of stage-struck people before, and thought it figure of speech I spoke of it jestingly, as disease no jest disease And got it badly ! Deep down within me I protest against the wrong done to my personality--unavailingly For three hours or more week and concentrate my attention on some fresh play, suggestions drama strengthen their awful hold upon me My manners grow so flamboyant, my passions so professional, that , as outset, whether really myself that behaves merely the core dramatic casing, that grows thicker and presses upon me--me and mine like King John's abbot cope of lead

, indeed, whether I abandon the struggle altogether-- leave this sad world of ordinary life so ill fitted, abandon the name of Cummins for some professional pseudonym, complete my self-effacement, and--a thing of tricks and tatters, of posing and pretence--go stage It seems my only resort--"to hold the mirror Nature " For ordinary life, confess, no one now seems to regard me as both sane and sober Only stage, convinced, will people take me seriously the end of it I _know the end of it And yet . frankly confess . all that marks off your actor from your common man . I _detest still largely Aunt Charlotte's opinion, that play-acting is unworthy of pure-minded man's attention, much more participation Even now resign my dramatic criticism and try rest Only 't get hold of Barnaby Letters of resignation he never notices against the etiquette of journalism to write to your Editor And when I go him, me another big cigar and some strong whisky and soda, and then something always turns up my explanation