She wrote to Dr. Whalley one of those genuine, spontaneous letters that show how she was misunderstood by those who thought her hard and reserved:—“My dear, dear friend, the trying moment is passed, and I am crowned with a success which far exceeds even my hopes. God be praised! I am extremely hurried, being obliged to dine at Linley’s; have been at the rehearsal of a new tragedy in prose, a most affecting play, in which I have a part I like very much. I believe my next character will be Zara in the _Mourning Bride_. My friend Pratt was, I believe in my soul, as much agitated, and is as much rejoiced as myself. As I know it will give you pleasure, I venture to assure you I never in my life heard such peals of applause. I thought they would not have suffered Mr. Packer to end the play. Oh! how I wished for you last night, to share a joy which was too much for me to bear alone! My poor husband was so agitated that he durst not venture near the house. I enclose an epilogue which my good friend wrote for me, but which I could not, from excessive fatigue of mind and body, speak. Never, never let me forget his goodness to me. I have suffered tortures for (of?) the unblest these three days and nights past, and believe I am not in perfect possession of myself at present; therefore excuse, my dear Mr. Whalley, the incorrectness of this scrawl, and accept it as the first tribute of love (after the first decisive moment) from your ever grateful and truly affectionate, S. SIDDONS.” On the next night her success was even greater. The lobbies were lined with crowds of ladies and gentlemen “of the highest fashion.” Lady Shelburne, Lord North the politician, Lady Essex, Mr. Sheridan and the Linley family weeping in his box, and hosts of others. She very soon began to reap substantial benefits from her success. “I should be afraid to say,” she continues, “how many times _Isabella_ was repeated successively, with still increasing favour. I was now highly gratified by a removal from my very indifferent and inconvenient dressing-room to one on the stage-floor, instead of climbing a long staircase; and this room (oh, unexpected happiness!) had been Garrick’s dressing-room. It is impossible to conceive my gratification when I saw my own figure in the self-same glass which had so often reflected the face and form of that unequalled genius—not, perhaps, without some vague, fanciful hope of a little degree of inspiration from it.”