I came out by the stagedoor of the Duke of York's Theatre at a quarter-past twelve on the first night of the production of Madame Sand, by Phillip Moeller. A girl of about fifteen, bare-headed, was standing against the wall, evidently waiting for some one. I said What are you waiting for? To see you. Where do you live? At Richmond. How are you going to get back? Walk. I walked here early this morning.