HAD the eminent author of Tangled Lives foreseen that at the conclusion of his third act there would arrive on the stage, a little blinded by the glare of the lights, more than a little worried for the child of tender years he bore in his arms, no less a personage than the Most Honourable the Marquis of Pelborough, who, having arrived, would blunder into the very thrill of a carefully devised finish, he could not have written words that better fitted the situation when Chick stumbled on to the stage of the Strand-Broadway Theatre, holding the infant Samuel in his arms.
Tangled LivesFor these were the lines:
Lady Verity (appealingly): Give me the child! Give me the child!
Count Robino: You shall never see him again! Ha, ha, ha!
(Enter Flemming hurriedly: he bears a child in his arms.)
