Topsy Sinden and Lily Elsie on tour in See-See, early 1907

Topsy Sinden (1877-1950) and Lily Elsie (1886-1962), as they appeared respectively as So-Hie and See-See, with ladies of the chorus, on tour in the United Kingdom during the first few months of 1907 with George Edwardes’s Company‘ in the ‘New Chinese Comic Opera,’ See-See. So-Hie and See-See were originally played by Gabrielle Ray and Denise Orme when See-See was first produced at the Prince of Wales’s Theatre, London, on 20 June 1906.
(photo: Foulsham & Banfield, London, late 1906/early1907; postcard no 3283F in the Rotary Photographic Co Ltd’s Rotary Photographic Series, published London, early 1907)

”’SEE SEE” AT HAMMERSMITH.
‘Miss Lily Elsie, who played the title rôle in ”The New Aladdin” at the Gaiety, gave a charming performance of ”See See” at the King’s, Hammersmith, last night. Miss Elsie has an engaging presence and a charming voice, and altogether gives promise of a brilliant future. Mr. George Edwardes has staged the popular Chinese comic opera very handsomely, both as regards scenery and company. Mr. Frank Danby and Mr. W.H. Rawlins keep the fun going, and the singing, acting, and dancing of Miss Amy Augarde, Mr. Leonard Mackay, and Miss Topsy Sinden are delightful. The production was enthusiastically received by a full house.’
(The Standard, London, Tuesday, 30 April 1907, p. 4f)

Gladys Saqui, Australian-born dancer in the pantomime Aladdin, Grand Theatre, Leeds, Christmas 1907

Gladys Saqui (1884-1919), Australian-born dancer, as she appeared as Nicee in the pantomime Aladdin, produced at the Grand Theatre, Leeds, at Christmas 1907. The principal parts in this production were played by Constance Hyem (Aladdin), Nell Emerald (Brigette), Frank Danby (Widow Trankey) and J.F. McArdle (Abanazar). The cast also included Hebe Bliss, G.H. Elliott and Olive Crellin.
(photo; J. Garratt, Leeds, 1907)

Gladys Mignon Saqui was born in Australia in 1884, one of the children of John ‘Jack’ Isaac Saqui (1855-1916), a cigar manufacturer and bookmaker, and his wife Esther (Stella) (née Barnett, 1852?-1946), who were both born in London’s East End and married in 1878. Two of Gladys’s sisters, Maie (1880-1907) and Hazel (1887-1975) were also actresses; the former was married in 1903 as his first wife to Arthur Hope Travers (1875-1938), a Grenadier Guardsman, and the latter was married in 1908 to the well-known actor manager, Nelson Keys (1886-1939). Maie and Gladys Saqui made professional appearances in their native Australia and once in England all three sisters were sometime under contract to George Edwardes. Maie first appeared in London in The Geisha (Daly’s Theatre, 25 April 1896 – 28 May 1898) towards the end of its run. Gladys Saqui appeared on tour and also as a dancer in The New Aladdin (Gaiety Theatre, London, 29 September 1907) and The Belle of Britanny (Queen’s Theatre, London, 24 October 1908).

* * * * *

‘Miss Maie Saqui, the famous Gaiety girl, whose death is announced this week, belonged to a sporting family. Her grandfather, Austen Saqui [Abraham Austin Saqui (1834-1889)], was a well-known bookmaker and owner of racehorses in Australia. Her father, Jack Saqui, followed in his father’s footsteps as a penciller, and began at the early age of 14 years. At the age of 20 he was making books on the Melbourne Cup to the extent of £1,000. About the same time he married. His daughter Maie was trained as a dancer under her aunt, Mrs. [Julia] Green, the well-known teacher of dancing in Melbourne, who was originally a Miss Saqui. Maie was not intended for the stage, but when her father, a wealthy man, lost his money in the land boom, Mrs. Saqui brought her daughter to England, where her brilliant career is known to every one. During more recent years Miss Saqui retired, and left the stage, and although in delicate healthy for some time past, her death came as a great shock to her numerous friends and relatives, among whom is Miss Sadi Green, now married to a son of Mr. Purves, the Melbourne barrister, and residing in England.’
(The Register, Adelaide, South Australia, Saturday, 11 May 1907, p. 4e)

Gaby Deslys sings!

Gaby Deslys (1881-1920), the irresistible French actress, singer and dancer, was ‘discovered’ in Paris by the impresario George Edwardes, who brought her to London for a cameo role, ‘The Charm of Paris,’ in The New Aladdin, produced at the Gaiety Theatre, London on 29 September 1906. She conquered Broadway in 1911 and later that year effortlessly upstaged her co-star (although there is some disagreement on this point), the rising Al Jolson, in Vera Violetta (Winter Garden Theatre, 20 November 1911). Mlle. Deslys appeared in several films and her only known recordings, of which the present example for the HMV label (2-033039) is one of several, were made in Vienna on 17 October 1910 [see below]. Her long-time dancing partner was the American Harry Pilcer (1885-1961) and together they created ‘The Gaby Glide,’ also in Vera Violetta.

A follower, chrisz78, has kindly added the following comment: ‘The present recording (‘Tout en rose’ by Vincent Scotto, the second song is not mentioned anywhere and came as a total surprise to me!) was recorded not in Paris but in VIENNA, on 15 October 1910, as per Gramophone Co.’s original recording register. On the same day, Deslys made four further recordings, including another take of ‘Tout en rose’ on a 10-inch disc, two versions of ‘Philomène’ and one of ‘La Parisienne.’ All were issued, though apparently very briefly, so the discs are very rare.’

For further information, see James Gardiner’s biography, Gaby Deslys, A Fatal Attraction, published in 1986.

May Etheridge about 1912, later Duchess of Leinster

May Etheridge (1892-1935), English chorus girl
(photo: unknown, possibly Elwin Neame, London, circa 1912)

May Etheridge (née May Juanita Etheridge) was first seen on the stage in the chorus of The New Aladdin, an extravaganza, at the Gaiety Theatre, London, on 29 September 1906. She then transferred to the Aldwych Theatre under the management of Seymour Hicks before taking the part of Ko-Giku, a geisha, in The Mousmé, a musical play with music by Lionel Monckton and Howard Talbot, which was produced by Robert Courtneidge at the Shaftesbury Theatre, London, on 9 September 1911. Her final official part was in the small role of Ursula in Princess Caprice, a comedy with music by Leo Fall, produced at the same theatre on 11 May 1912. It is believed, however, that she appeared in a small uncredited part in the musical comedy, Betty at Daly’s Theatre, London, during 1915.

By then, however, on 12 June 1913 at Wandsworth Registrar’s Office, near London, May Etheridge married Lord Edward FitzGerald (1892-1976), later 7th Duke of Leinster. They separated in 1922 and divorced in 1930. He was subsequently married three more times (including in 1946 to the former actress, Denise Orme) and committed suicide on 8 March 1976.

‘A Duchess Bound Over.
‘LONDON, April 19 [1930]. – Charged with having attempted to commit suicide, the Duchess of Leinster, formerly May Etheridge, a musical comedy star [sic], who was found unconscious on April 1 [1930] in a gas-filled room at a Brixton boarding house, was bound over to-day to be of good behaviour for two years, in her own recognisances of £50 and two sureties for a like amount.’
(The West Australian, Perth, Tuesday, 22 April 1930, p. 15b)

The Duchess, who eventually changed her name to May Murray, died at her home at Saltdean, near Brighton, Sussex on 11 February 1935; the inquest returned a verdict of death by misadventure following an accidental overdose of narcotics taken to induce sleep.

Adrienne Augarde

Adrienne Augarde (1882-1913),
English actress and singer
(photo: The Biograph Studio, London, circa 1905)

‘AUGARDE, Adrienne:
‘Actress, made her first appearance on the stage in the chorus of the J.W. Turner Opera Company, rising gradually on tour to prominent parts. She went to London the following year, joining George Edwardes’s The Duchess of Dantzic company, playing the leading ingénue rôle at its opening at the Lyric Theatre, London in 1903. Following this she created the title rôle in Lady Madcap at the Prince of Wales Theatre in 1904. She came to New York, appearing in The Duchess of Dantzic with the original English company. She remained in the United States only two months and returned to London to assume the title part [sic] in The Little Michus, produced at Daly’s Theatre, 1905. She appeared in See -See for two months and a half, and then created the rôle of the Princess in The New Aladdin, produced at the Gaiety Theatre [29 September 1906].’
(Walter Browne and E. De Roy Koch, editors, Who’s Who on the Stage, B.W. Dodge & Co, New York, 1908, p.24)

Adrienne Augarde with one of George Graves’s Gazekas
at the time of her appearance as Blanche-Marie
in the first English production of André Messager’s The Little Michus,
Daly’s Theatre, London, 1905-1906
(photo: Bassano, London, 1905/1906)

‘Death of Adrienne Augarde.
‘One of the most gifted of musical comedy comediennes, Adrienne Augarde, died in Chicago last week following an operation for appendicitis. Miss Auguarde’s most recent successful performance in this country was in The Dollar Princess. An enthusiastic critic once said of Miss Augarde, “Give her two bits of ribbon, a frock as simple as a maid’s, a snatch of a song as simple as her frock, and she will outshine a regiment of stage beauties anywhere.” Miss Augarde made her debut on the London stage ten years ago. She made a tremendous hit singing Renee in The Duchess of Dantzic.
(The Washington Post, Washington, D.C., Sunday, 23 March 1913, Magazine Section, p.3a)

‘“MAKE-UP” BOX HER CASKET.
‘Ashes of Adrienne Augarde, English Actress, Mailed to Former Home.
‘Chicago, Mar. 22 [1913]. – A silver casket wrought from a “make-up” box will carry the ashes of Adrienne Augarde, the English actress, whose body was cremated here yesterday.
‘The casket, consigned to Mrs. Henrietta Augarde, the actess’ mother, was mailed today to England.’
(The Washington Post, Washington, D.C., Sunday, 23 March 1913, p.1e)

Gertie Millar (1879-1952),
English musical comedy star,
interviewed by New York drama critic,
Alan Dale (1861-1928), London, 1911
(photo: Foulsham & Banfield, London, circa 1908)

”’GERTIE MILLAR SIGHS FOR SOMETHING NEW” – Says Alan Dale.
”’It is possible for a Gaiety girl to own all the Gaiety requirements and yet be able to throw plates and break glasses in moments of festive indignation.”
‘By Alan Dale.
‘The George Edwardes Girl is not necessarily a beautiful, pleasurable mollusc. Don’t believe it for a solitary moment. Perhaps the most memorable and pictorially interesting of the Gaiety sirens have been the placidly lovely damsels who have ”married into the peerage.” But – there are others. It is possible, though not at all unusual, to be a George Edwardes Girl with a ”temperament.” By that I mean that it is possible for a girl to own all the Gaiety requirements and yet be able to throw plates and break glasses in moments of festive indignation.
‘I always thought that Miss Gertie Millar had a certain ”temperament” of her own. Slim, willowy, with flashing eyes, and very red lips (I didn’t say very ”reddened” lips), Miss Millar appealed to me as a personality rather than a beauty. In New York she had very little chance. She was one of the Girls of Gottenberg, and they were not at all skittish. In London, of course, she can do what she likes, and I fancy that she does it.
‘It was after witnessing a very curious incident at the Adelphi Theatre, where I went to see Miss Millar in The Quaker Girl, that I asked her to ”chat” with me.
‘This was the incident: It was the night of the Derby and London was conventionally demoralized. Mr Joseph Coyne, who plays ”lead” in The Quaker Girl, did not appear at all in the cast. His place was taken by an understudy. Miss Millar came on in due-est course, and sang her opening song, prettily enough. As far as I could make out from the front, Coyne’s understudy seemed to ”get on her nerves.” At any rate, after having sung her first song, she never appeared again that night. An understudy finished the performance for her. Nothing was explained. I could imagine her ”throwing things.” It pleased me to believe that here at last was a London favorite with ”nerves,” and so overjoyed was I at the discover that I begged Miss Millar to ”receive” me.
‘And so I went to the Adelphi Theatre to meet her at home, in her dressing-room. I’ve come to the slow conclusion that the dressing-room is the very best place in the world in which to meet actor-ladies. It beats the suburban flat, the stereotyped hotel or the lonely diggings in which the stage lady attempts to pretend that she is not. Real? Who wants reality? If she were real I should not want to be chatting with her. It is because she isn’t real that she is interesting. Therefore, I say, ‘Rah for the dressing-room!

Gertie Millar as Prudence in The Quaker Girl,
Adelphi Theatre, London, 5 November 1910
(photo: Rita Martin, London, 1910;
postcard published by Rotary Photographic Co, London,
Rotary Photographic Series, no. 11749 B)

‘Miss Gertie Millar’s star-chamber was most comfortable and alluring. I’ll say one thing for London theatres, and it is that they don’t ”stye” their artists, as is often the case in New York. The London star dressing-room is commodious, even ”elegant,” and it has repose – like everything in London. It is restful, not suggestive of hustle, and it is, furthermore, picturesque. Miss Millar had just pirouetted from the stage when I was ushered in. The act was over. She had quite a long wait, and as she greeted me she allowed a gracious smile to illumine her thin features.
‘Very thin is Gertie Millar. Her movements are quick, electric and vivacious. Her dark eyes fix you and scintillate as she talks. She isn’t a bit like the usual London favorite. It dawned upon me that it would be seemly and pious to appear deferential. After all, I have to do a bit of acting myself on these hectic occasions, and by dint of long practice I have become a tolerably successful actor.
”’I used to read you every day when I was in New York,” she said, ”so I know all about you, and you can consider yourself introduced.”
‘Of course, that was very graceful. If I had been ten years younger I should have been flattered. Most scribbling fledglings like to be told by pretty girls that they have been ”read.” I fancy I used to like it myself, once upon a time. Now, alas! it cuts no ice. When an actress tells me that she ”reads” me, it sounds like a platitude – a mere substitute for ”We’re having fine weather,” or ”We’re not having fine weather.”
”’You recall New York to me,” she continued with a plaintive sigh. ”And I loved it. Oh, I had a lovely time in New York, and I want to go back.”
‘I was sorry for this conventionality and felt it my duty to nip it in the bud. The day was long since passed when ”I love dear America” had the slightest interest for anybody. And as for dear America, it got tired of being loved at least a quarter of a century ago.
”’You are so much on the alert,” she continued, piling on the agony, ”and you have such delightful ingenues and soubrettes. Here in London nothing new happens and no new favorite occurs. It is really dreadful. Personally, I should welcome the advent of new blood. It inspires competition, and it is healthy. But year in and year out we have the same people. I look around everywhere for some new personality. This is nobody.”
‘This sounded awfully good. Miss Millar’s eyes flashed. I wondered what she was ”getting at.” For a star to complain that there was nobody to vie with her seemed ominous. I was puzzled.
”’You wouldn’t like” – I began.
”’But I should,” she said most energetically. ”Indeed, I should. Why, the other night, when that little girl played my part, I was really delighted. I had given her a chance, and I fancy that she made good.”
‘Miss Millar looked at me steadily. My face, I believe, was immobile. I’ve never yet met a stage lady who liked a successful understudy. In fact, I’ve known many stage ladies who have recovered from the acutest forms of nervous prostration as soon as they head of their understudies’ pleasing success. Of course, I didn’t say this.
”’You were very angry that night when you didn’t go on,” I suggested.
‘Miss Millar looked pained – not angry, but grieved. ”Not at all,” she said. ”I was feeling very ill indeed. I simply couldn’t face the situation. I felt I should collapse, so I withdrew. It was annoying, but I couldn’t help it.”
‘I was hoping for something more sensational. I should have known better. Yet I could still see ”temperament” in the dark pool of her eyes, and I liked her. I liked her very much better than the soft, pretty, clamlike little ladies, who cling and look helpless.
”’You mustn’t imagine,” said Miss Millar, ”that because my husband, Lionel Monckton, writes all the music for me that I can’t sing anybody else’s. That would be quite wrong. I appeared in The Waltz Dream [sic], and honestly enjoyed it immensely. It was quite a relief singing somebody else’s music. And that lovely music!”
‘but Mr. Monckton’s music is delicious,” I suggested.
”’Oh, he is very clever,” said Mrs Gertie Millar-Monckton, ”and, of course, he understands me. He ought to do so, don’t you think?” (She laughed rather amusingly.) ”He knows the sort of thing that I ought to song, and he tried to fit me, and if he doesn’t fit I shall tell him so. I do not stand upon any ceremony with him.”
‘I could believe it. I could almost hear Monckton curtain-lectures on the subject of songs, seemly and otherwise.
”’It would be very foolish of me if I sang songs that I didn’t like, just because my husband, Mr. Monckton, wrote them. Wouldn’t it? Why, only the other day he gave me a new ditty to introduce into The Quaker Girl, and I wouldn’t introduce it. I didn’t like it, and I told him so.”
‘Miss Millar said this very emphatically and made a charming little grimace into the bargain. In that grimace I saw more ”temperament.” I could even hear clair-audiently such phrases as ”I won’t sing that, you pie-face!” I believe in clair-audience.
”’Mr. Monckton studies me, of course,” said said, ”and he can usually gauge my qualities. I never took singing lessons in my life, and I never studies dancing. I can’t understand why I am considered a dancer, because I really do nothing. I just jig to the rhythm of the music. I don’t consider that there is any art in it. I love dancing, and I adore watching it, but I don’t admire my own at all.”
”’Suppose somebody possibly new did occur in London,” I queried, reverting to her own theme, ”wouldn’t you feel just a little tiny bit vexed?”
”’Not at all,” she said. ”I am tired of it all, anyway. I’ve been at work now for a very long time without any holiday worth speaking of. I am tired and I’d like to settle down.”

Gertie Millar as Lallie in The New Aladdin,
the part originally played by Lily Elsie when that production opened
at the Gaiety Theatre, London, on 29 September 1906
(photo: Foulsham & Banfield, London, 1907)

”’Settle down!” I was aghast.
”’Yes, settle down,” she declared. ”Don’t look so surprised. Is it so extraordinary?”
”’You’d like to be a domesticated married woman and sit by the fire and tat?”
‘There was horror in my voice – very well managed horror, I flatter myself.
”’Oh, I didn’t say that,” quoth Gertie Millar, amused. ”I made no such statement. I merely said that I wast ired and that I’d like to settle down, and I mean it. One can get enough and I have no more illusions. I’ve been with Mr. Edwardes for a long time. I’ve played many parts. I’ve seen my understudies blossom forth. Miss Gabrielle Ray was my understudy, and she is doing very nicely. Miss Lily Elsie, though not exactly my understudy, was engaged to play my part [Lally in The New Aladdin] for a certain time. What is there left for me? As I said, there is nobody new. Nothing happens. I don’t know what will become of me later on. It is quite serious.”
‘I looked at her and liked her some more. She wasn’t a bit satisfied, and yet she has every reason to be. With the most musical husband in London and the most discerning manager in the world, Miss Gertie Millar’s lot in life would seem enviable. Still, musical comedy must grate. It is, in good sooth, gritty. I didn’t want to butt in and suggest to Miss Millar that with her temperament (that’s about the s’teenth time I’ve used that revolting word) she might aim higher. What’s the use of sowing the seeds of discontent? Moreover, Miss Millar, who is anything but a fool, has probably thought that matter out for herself, very carefully, and perhaps much more logically that I can think it out. But she is the first established musical comedy girl who has ever repined or seemed to repine, at her eminently successful career. So I think she is distinctly worth emphasizing, don’t you?
”’But I must do America again,” she continued. ”I didn’t have enough of it. I only played New York. I was anxious to go to Philadelphia, but Mr. [Charles] Frohman wouldn’t let me. I’ve heard a lot about your one-night stands.”,br> ”’Philadelphia is not a one-night stand,” said I, though I hold no brief for Philadelphia.
”’No?” she ventured, gently interrogative. ”Oh, I know that, of course. But I wanted to travel in America and see the country, for New York inspired me. I don’t find much difference between a New York and London audience. It seems to me that they are very much akin. When they like anybody in New York they are just as enthusiastic as they are in London. But I wouldn’t like to appear in New York in The Quaker Girl. I don’t think it is my best part by any means. It is to be done in New York, but not with me. When I return I want something better for the Americans. I have heaps of friends in American. Will you give my love to them?”
‘Wasn’t that cute? Of course, I promised I would, and I will. All friends of Miss Gertie Millar, in U.S.A., please accept her love. I shan’t bring it back with me because I might have to pay duty on it (love, being a sort of present, is not admitted free of duty at the Customs House), so I enclose it herewith, and those who receive it will kindly acknowledge it to Miss Gertie Millar, Adelphi Theatre, Strand, London, England.
”’You won’t settle down before you go to America?” I asked anxiously.
‘She laughed. ”You take me so seriously,” she said. ”I’m just tired, that’s all, and I feel I’d like to settle down. I don’t say that I shall, but that I’d like to.”
‘Which seems like a distinction without a difference, for what lovely woman likes she generally does. Just the same, between you, me and the bedpost. I don’t think for a moment that Miss Gertie Millar wants to retire. Therefore, she won’t.’
(San Antonio Light, San Antonio, Texas, Sunday, 9 July 1911, supplement)

Edna Loftus (d. 1916), English chorus girl
(photo: unknown, UK, circa 1906)

This postcard of Edna Loftus is a Photochrome, published in the ‘Celebrities of the Stage’ series (no. 4731) by Raphael Tuck & Sons, London, about 1906.

Miss Loftus’s modest career as an actress included chorus work at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in The New Aladdin (29 September 1906) in the small part of Madge Oliphant. That same year she featured in the Christmas pantomime Babes in the Wood at the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh. She later went to the United States, where she is said to have appeared on Broadway.

‘WANT DRIVES HER TO TRY SUICIDE
‘Edna Loftus Rheinstrom Lies Seriously Ill at Roadhouse as Result of Attempt.
‘SAN FRANCISCO, Dec. 21 [1910] – Since her attempt last week to drown herself in an effort to end her tragic career, Edna Loftus, who, as a chorus girl in New York and London charmed thousands, and whose marriage to Harry A. Rheinstrom, son of the late millionaire brewer of Cincinnati, furnished some sensational gossip some months ago, has been lying seriously ill at Cairn’s roadhouse.
‘While her husband has been confined in an asylum at Stockton, Edna has been finding it difficult to maintain herself, and her attempt at suicide fallowed three weeks of unsuccessful effort to make both ends meet.
‘STRUGGLE TOO GREAT.
‘Disheartened and discouraged by the constant struggles and buffeting with which she has been contending, and brooding over her husband’s absence and the fact that the guardianship of Rheinstrom was taken from her by the courts when he was sent to the Stockton asylum, she went to Golden Gate park and threw herself in the cold, shallow water of Spreckels lake The water was not as deep as she supposed and as she plunged in, she screamed for help, all idea of suicide gone.
Her screams attracted a man in a passing automobile. He stopped his car and hurrying to the lake, dragged the unhappy but repentant Edna to shore. The man, who did not make known his identity took her to Carin’s at Thirty-sixth avenue and Fulton street, where she has since been living.
‘WEDS JOCKEY.
‘Edna Loftus was married to Jockey Winnie O’Connor before the couple first met. She divorced him and eloped with Rheinstrom to Covington, Ky., where they were married. They came west to Los Angeles, and then to San Francisco. Rheinstrom engaged in business in Oakland, but neglected it sadly, and was forced to live on his allowance, which his wife found much too small. Finally they were forced to move from their Oakland home by importunate collectors. Rheinstrom then displayed symptoms of insanity, and was committed to Stockton. As his allowance will end on January 1, his wife will be forced to earn her own living entirely.’
(Oakland Tribune, Oakland, California, Wednesday, 21 December 1910, p.5b)

‘EDNA LOFTUS DIES IN WARD FOR PAUPERS
‘A life story, in which fame, wealth, poverty, gayety, sorrow and sin played on the soul of a girl who had beauty and talent, came to an end yesterday when Edna Loftus, London music hall singer [sic], who was once the wife of Harry A. Rheinstrom, son of a Cincinnati millionaire, died of tuberculosis at the City and County Hospital in San Francisco.
‘The last chapter in Edna Loftus’ story is like that of the homely novel that is read for the moral contained. The body of the girl who heeded not, so long as money and beauty lasted, will be buried in the potters’ field unless her former husband’s family claims it.
‘When Miss Loftus eloped with Rheinstrom she was at the height of her career, inspired by a desire to put behind them the doubtful pleasures of the night life the couple came to California and attempted to live simply. Rheinstrom’s father would give them no money and soon the wife pined for the lobster palaces and the flowing champagne to which she was accustomed. Then fate, in earnest, began to take from under her one by one the steps of the ladder on which she had climbed to position. Desperately she tried to keep from slipping, but surely, sometimes slowly and often long spaces at a time, she went down.
‘Rheinstrom was sent to the insane asylum at Stockton in 1913 after the couple had achieved notoriety in the night life. He was released a year later, divorced the actress and returned to his home in the East.
‘Three years ago, at Angel Island, she faced deportation as an undesirable alien. It was said that instead of leaving San Francisco, as she had promised the police, she had purchased a share in an infamous resort on Commercial street. There were stories of police investigation of her part in the disappearance of a valuable gold watch belonging to a young hardware merchant of San Francisco.
‘At the time of her death Miss Loftus was the keeper of the Art Hotel, 883 Kearny street, a pathetic figure pointed out in the tenderloin as a bit of a curiosity because once she had been famous on two continents.’
(Oakland Tribune, Oakland, California, Friday, 16 June 1916, p.13b)