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Updated: May 9, 2025
Quin and other actors, critics, etc. Our friend, Sir Charles Pomander, had been guilty of two ingenuities: first, he had written three or four letters, full of respectful admiration, to Mrs. Woffington, of whom he spoke slightingly to Vane; second, he had made a disingenuous purchase. This purchase was Pompey, Mrs. Woffington's little black slave.
This was the way she put it even to herself. He admired her acting and wished to pay her a compliment. "What if I carried him the verses?" She thought she should surely please him by showing she was not the least jealous or doubtful of him. The poor child wanted so to win a kind look from her husband; but ere she could reach the window Sir Charles Pomander had entered it.
It was one of those filigree balls of gold wrought into openwork, about the size of a walnut, that fine ladies used to wear swung from a chain or ribbon and call a pomander. The toy held a chosen perfume or essence supposed to be reviving in case miladi felt a swoon or megrim about to overwhelm her; as ladies did in past centuries and do no longer.
The cold villain was startled at the mighty storm his mean hand had raised. This creature had not only more feeling, but more passion, than a hundred libertines. He muttered some villain's commonplaces; while this unhappy young lady raised her hands to heaven, and sobbed in a way very terrible to any manly heart. "He is unworthy you," muttered Pomander. "He has forfeited your love.
Sir Charles eyed his friend in a sly, satirical manner; he then said, laughingly: "In two months she married a third! don't waste your sympathy," and turned the talk into another channel; and soon after, Mrs. Woffington's maid appearing at the door, she courtesied to both gentlemen and left the theater. Sir Charles Pomander accompanied Mr. Vane a little way.
Sir Charles bowed stiffly, and replied, that it was only due to himself to withdraw a protection so little appreciated. The two friends were in the very act of separating forever, when who should run in but Pompey, the renegade. He darted up to Sir Charles, and said: "Massa Pomannah she in a coach, going to 10, Hercules Buildings. I'm in a hurry, Massa Pomannah." "Where?" cried Pomander.
"It has been the most wonderful success, Blue Bonnet," Annabel whispered, as the party left the table. "And I did so enjoy Kitty Clark. I couldn't keep my eyes off her." "I'm so glad, Annabel," Blue Bonnet answered, giving the hand in her own a squeeze. "We must hurry a bit now. We're going to the Plymouth to see 'Pomander Walk. They say it's dear." The play came up to expectations.
Woffington looked after him with interest, for this confirmed her suspicions; but suddenly her expression changed, she wore a look we have not yet seen upon her it was a half-cunning, half-spiteful look; it was suppressed in a moment, she gave herself to her book, and presently Sir Charles Pomander sauntered into the room. "Ah! what, Mrs. Woffington here?" said the diplomat.
Was it the letter from Pomander announcing his return, and sneeringly inquiring whether he was still the dupe of Peg Woffington? or was it that same mysterious disquiet which attacked him periodically, and then gave way for a while to pleasure and her golden dreams? The next day was to be a day of delight. He was to entertain her at his own house; and, to do her honor, he had asked Mr. Cibber, Mr.
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.
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