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She showed him its contents worsted stockings of prodigious thickness which she was carrying to some of her proteges. "But surely that is a waste of your valuable time," remonstrated her admirer. "Much better buy them." "But, my good soul," replied the representative of Sir Harry Wildair, "you can't buy them. Nobody in this wretched town can knit worsted hose except Woffington."
The lady replied not, though Vane's soul appeared to hang upon her answer. But she threw the door open and there appeared another lady, the real Mrs. Vane. Mrs. Woffington then threw off her hood, and, to Sir Charles Pomander's consternation, revealed the features of that ingenious person, who seemed born to outwit him. "You heard that fervent declaration, madam?" said she to Mrs. Vane.
He bowed to the ground. "Thanks for the double favor, good Sir Charles." She courtesied to the floor. Feminine vengeance! He had come between her and her love. All very clever, Mrs. Actress; but was it wise? "I am revenged," thought Mrs. Woffington, with a little feminine smirk. "I will be revenged," vowed Pomander, clinching his teeth. COMPARE a November day with a May day.
On another occasion they were seated in the dusk, by the side of the canal in the Park, when a little animal began to potter about on an adjacent bank. Mrs. Woffington contemplated it with curiosity and delight. "Oh, you pretty creature!" said she. "Now you are a rabbit; at least, I think so." "No," said Vane, innocently; "that is a rat." "Ah! ah! ah!" screamed Mrs.
The dramatical old rascal, Cibber, began now to look at it as a bit of genteel comedy; and slipped out his note-book under the table. Pomander cursed her ready wit, which had disappointed him of his catastrophe. Vane wrote on a slip of paper: "Pity and respect the innocent!" and passed it to Mrs. Woffington. He could not have done a more superfluous or injudicious thing.
"So sorry!" said Miss Josey, with the most melancholy of pouts on her lip, and with a funny reminder of Laura Keene when she uses the same expression to the discarded Pomander in "Peg Woffington." "But we have something else that you will like," Susy continued, determined to atone for any disappointment in the pigs and their terminations.
Woffington laughed. Now it was Vane's turn. "Let me have a copy of verses from your pen. I shall have five pounds at your disposal for them." "The world has found me out!" thought Triplet, blinded by his vanity. "The subject, sir?" "No matter," said Vane "no matter." "Oh, of course it does not matter to me," said Triplet, with some hauteur, and assuming poetic omnipotence.
MACHIAVEL entered the green-room, intending to wait for Mrs. Woffington, and carry out the second part of his plan. He knew that weak minds cannot make head against ridicule, and with this pickax he proposed to clear the way, before he came to grave, sensible, business love with the lady. Machiavel was a man of talent.
The sacred principle of justice was as strong in Mrs. Woffington as in the rest of her sex; she had not one grain of it. When she was not in her tantrums, the mischievous imp was as sacred from check or remonstrance as a monkey or a lap-dog; and several female servants left the house on his account. But Nemesis overtook him in the way we have hinted, and it put his little black pipe out.
"Only, when one knows the subject, one can sometimes make the verses apply better." "Write then, since you are so confident, upon Mrs. Woffington." "Ah! that is a subject! They shall be ready in an hour!" cried Trip, in whose imagination Parnassus was a raised counter.
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