Clara Morris, another personality of the West, was one of the greatest actresses America has produced, and her book was one of the most realistic presentations of stage life. On going to the States in 1900 I wanted to see her, but she had retired. However, when I returned on my second visit, she was back on the stage—the usual story of reverses. It so chanced I was in Chicago that October, paying a visit to those delightful people the Francis Walkers. _Behind the Footlights_ was selling well in an American edition, and on learning that I was in the city, the managers of the different theatres most kindly sent me boxes. Success cannot adequately be gauged by gold, it brings friends and opportunities beyond mere dross. One night we went to the Illinois Theatre (since destroyed by fire, with frightful loss of life), and occupied Mr. William Davis’s own box, to see _The Two Orphans_. There was an “all-star” cast. I had never seen that play since I was a little girl. It had been almost my first theatrical experience; and, as the first act proceeded, the story came back with more force than in any production seen for the second time nowadays, after even only a week or two’s interval. These childish impressions had sunk deep in the memory. In Chicago this inferior drama was well acted, and again I noticed how many English people were upon the boards. More than half the actors and actresses of America are English, or of British parentage. Clara Morris played the nun. She received a perfect ovation, and needed to bow again and again before she was allowed to proceed with her small part. There was a quiet dignity about her, and when she told the lie to save the girl, she rose to a high level of dramatic power. After that Mr. Davis came and took me to her dressing-room. We did not get into the wings through an iron door direct from the boxes, as in London, but had to go right to the back of the theatre, down some stairs, under the stalls (there never is a pit), below the stage, and upstairs again to the stage, where Clara Morris had a small dressing-room almost on the footlights, it was so far in front. This was _the_ star dressing-room, but it was certainly smaller than those in our theatres, and one cannot imagine how three or four dresses and a dresser ever squeezed into it. She welcomed us at the door. “Mam, I am delighted to see you,” she said, with a true American “Mam.” Her hand trembled, for she had just left the stage after her big scene, and she was an elderly woman. I told her how keen had been my wish to see her, and how I had quoted her in my book. She knew that, and thanked me, saying many pretty things, and added: “No, I never dared play in England, although I have been there, and loved it.” “Why not?” I asked.