Molly’s work had a fault that is fatal in the theatre, one so deep in her character that it could not be corrected. There was no moment in that evening’s entertainment when it appeared that both sides might be right; only Molly, the author, was right. In the theatre, order, clarity, and goodness are not enough; to be correct is not a sufficient virtue. An audience wants to be shaken and for a time kept in doubt. That’s the fun of it. Molly, being absolute about her opinions, had no inner conflicts herself; she could therefore create conflicts only within a perimeter she’d set. The audience felt that she knew the solution to everything happening on stage and that she’d uncover these solutions when she chose to. This produced the one unforgivable dramatic fault: The conclusion was predictable. The conflicts were not genuine because they did not exist in the author, so were not felt as genuine conflicts by her. Her audience, good-natured and kind, may have agreed with her “positions,” but they were not interested in the confrontation—more like a school debate or a “fixed” fight—that she set up. In the theatre, there has to be a belly of chaos under the event. The audiences should be uncertain of the outcome until the end. Only then may a resolution be of dramatic interest.