Cambridge was my own University; and though of course there were no
women there in my time, I felt confident that if the atmosphere of the
eighteenth century still existed anywhere in England, it would be at
Cambridge. About three months ago she wrote to me and asked whether I
wished to give her a present on her next birthday. Of course I said
yes; and she then astonished and delighted me by telling me that she
had written a play, and that the present she wanted was a private
performance of it with real actors and real critics.

SAVOYARD. Yes: thats what staggered me. It was easy enough to
engage a company for a private performance: it's done often enough.
But the notion of having critics was new. I hardly knew how to set
about it. They dont expect private engagements; and so they have no
agents. Besides, I didnt know what to offer them. I knew that they
were cheaper than actors, because they get long engagements: forty
years sometimes; but thats no rule for a single job. Then theres such
a lot of them: on first nights they run away with all your stalls:
you cant find a decent place for your own mother. It would have cost
a fortune to bring the lot.

THE COUNT. Of course I never dreamt of having them all. Only a few
first-rate representative men.

SAVOYARD. Just so. All you want is a few sample opinions. Out of a
hundred notices you wont find more than four at the outside that say
anything different. Well, Ive got just the right four for you. And
what do you think it has cost me?

THE COUNT. [shrugging his shoulders] I cannot guess.