A long, long time ago, while I was playing in Paris (Kentucky!) a party of ladies and gentlemen came down from Mount Sterling to witness our performance thinking they could leave Paris and get to Lexington the same evening. Unfortunately the railroad had changed its schedule and there was no train out until the following morning. My private car was waiting for me and I had taken the precaution to charter an engine to take me back to Lexington after the performance. When I arrived at the station I found the party very much disturbed at the prospect of having to remain in Paris over night.

I sent my secretary to them and he placed my car at their disposal. He told them that there was a nice supper prepared and that they were welcome to whatever the chef could furnish. I would remain in my stateroom and not interfere with their party. They accepted the invitation, but insisted that I join their party which consisted of three men and three women.

One young lady in particular attracted my attention with her radiant beauty. She was a magnificent creature, blonde and erect, possessing the complexion given only to those living in the Blue Grass country. During the journey I had little time to talk with her as one of the other young ladies who came from Boston usurped all my time discussing the drama and other topics equally uninteresting to me.

The beautiful blonde lady told the manager of the theatre at Lexington (he was a friend of hers, as well as of mine) that she considered me a very dull person. The manager defended me as best he could and told her that I was to dine with his family that night and he would be pleased to have her do likewise. She consented and that evening we met and had a jolly time.

I found her most intelligent and so far as my career on and off the stage was concerned she was a walking encyclopedia. In fact she knew more about my vagaries than I did myself, but as we progressed along lines of casual conversation I thought that I discovered a little scepticism relative to my supposed proclivities for wrong-doing. She asked me if I desired any beverage and I, trying to display proper gallantry, suggested the cool and refreshing draught, the wine of the country, Kentucky Bourbon.

As she poured out a small glass of the liquor she remarked, "I really thought that you were going to ask for a glass of metheglin."

"I have been drinking the ingredients which form that compound the entire evening," I replied.

She looked at me very intently as I swallowed the whiskey, then suddenly wheeled about and with a half hysterical note in her voice, said, "I don't believe it!"

Not having the remotest idea as to what she had reference I answered, "No more do I!"

She then said, "You don't understand!" I gasped, "Quite right!" She gently took my hand in hers and in a sweet, sad voice said:—

"You need a friend. Let me be your little friend. I know all about you. For years you have been my favorite player and I have read all the uncomplimentary articles written about you. Your gambling escapades, your supposed capacity for drink, your amours, scandals, in fact everything pertaining to your private life have interested me for years. But as I have read and re-read these accusations, which I know now to be absolutely false, I fail to discover where you had wronged anybody but yourself!"

It was the first time that anyone had spoken to me like that, with the exception of my little mother, and her words sank 'way down deep into my heart. We talked for several hours, in fact, until the dawn approached, but we interested each other to such an extent that neither was conscious of the departing night until we were rudely told by our hostess that our conduct was most disreputable and that the best place for me was a berth in my private car. During our conversation I had tried to convince her that I was pretty bad, but not so bad as Joe Jefferson painted.

After leaving Lexington I corresponded with her for some little time. Finally I heard that her parents were objecting and I told her that we must discontinue our correspondence. She refused to act upon my advice and insisted upon communicating with me once or twice a week. I answered her letters with the result that we became engaged. But my friend Fate again came upon the scene and exercised his authority.

I left "The Rivals" tour with a heavy heart, for several reasons. I had signed a contract for a sixteen weeks' tour in Australia. Many wondered why. I sent out the rumor that it was to see the country and to further my artistic desires.

The real reason? I was running away from a woman.

Cowardly? Well, let's reason it out.

Briefly the young lady from Kentucky and I met many times after our first interview and a friendship sprang up that soon ripened into love. I saw a way of releasing myself from my second marriage. The lady who bore my name accepted a large sum of money and allowed me to procede. My plans were all laid. I brought suit in a town in lower California.

But now a friend of the Kentucky young lady warned me against proceeding and met me in Louisville. She told me that my fiancee had informed her parents of her intentions and they were furious, had entered all sorts of protests and threatened even violence. I listened very quietly, waiting to learn my fiancee's attitude. She was determined and defiant and meant to go through.

I told her friend that I could readily understand the attitude of the young lady's family and endorsed it. What did they know of me except through the newspapers? I should not care to entrust my daughter or sister to the keeping of a man with my unsavory reputation. I promised then and there that I would endeavor to break the engagement and her friend left very much delighted. I took the matter up with the young lady, but she refused absolutely to annul the agreement. She even threatened to leave her home and join me. Of course I soon argued her out of that determination. But the most she agreed to was to wait until such time as I should be free.

I had determined upon my course. By various means I had fathomed the whole situation. She was the favorite daughter of a very large family. Her father, passed beyond the eighties, fairly worshipped her. Her brother simply idolized her. Was it fair to break up this happy home? I could only answer my own question negatively. I sent for one of the members of the family. He came, unknown to her, and I suggested that I go at once to Europe and remain there for a year.

"That won't do," he said. "She will follow you. We can do nothing with her at home; she is a determined woman and has made up her mind."

While talking I thought of an offer I had received for an Australian tour and excusing myself I went to the telegraph office. Presently I came back with a copy of a wire to George Musgrove which I had just sent to New York. It read:

"Will that satisfy you and the members of your family?" I asked.

"Come and have a drink!" he replied and over an apple toddy informed me that I was a good fellow. He took the next train for Lexington leaving me alone at the Galt House bar with my thoughts and an apple toddy!

Ahead I saw only a trip of ten thousand miles to an unknown country, which I had no desire to visit, and a divorce procedure under way that had cost me thousands to bring about. I was about to leave friends, family and a woman who was sure to loathe my name when she heard of my act—and all for what?

It was simply to appease the transient sorrow of a family too selfish to allow their offspring to obey the dictates of her own honest heart. They had no thought of her anguish, her future and as for me—of what matter my end? The profligate could go on his way destroying more homes to build one of his own, take a journey into other lands in quest of more victims, etc!

If I had only been more selfish, what a different life mine would have been! Not that I am ashamed of any act of my past, but the impressions I have unwittingly made would never have been made; my inclinations would have been established; my true motives known to the world, and children, perhaps, be born to endorse my attitude toward mankind!

Fate said "No," and I began my journey to the Antipodes, leaving as a legacy to the Kentucky woman—a lie!

Fifteen years later we met in New York. We drove through Central Park and I told her the truth. When I had finished she said nothing; for almost an hour we drove in silence. She then turned to me and simply replied, "Well I've waited all these years to prove what I thought was true. It is over now and I presume we both are happy."

Are we? I wonder!

It was Poe who wrote Annabel Lee:—

It is a strange world. The young lady married some few years ago. I hope she is happy; she deserves to be.

Chapter XLIX