MR. VANE, besides being a rich, was a magnificent man; when his features were in repose their beauty had a wise and stately character. Soaper and Snarl had admired and bitterly envied him. At the present moment no one of his guests envied him--they began to realize his position. And he, a huge wheel of shame and remorse, began to turn and whir before his eyes.
He sat between two European beauties, and, pale and red by turns, shunned the eyes of both, and looked down at his plate in a cold sweat of humiliation, mortification and shame.
The iron passed through Mrs. Woffington's soul. So! this was a villain, too, the greatest villain of all--a hypocrite! She turned. very faint, but she was under an enemy's eye, and under a rival's; the thought drove the blood back from her heart, and with a mighty effort she was Woffington again. Hitherto her liaison with Mr. Vane had called up the better part of her nature, and perhaps our reader has been taking her for a good woman; but now all her dregs were stirred to the surface. The mortified actress gulled by a novice, the wronged and insulted woman, had but two thoughts; to defeat her rival--to be revenged on her false lover.
More than one sharp spasm passed over her features before she could master them, and then she became smiles above, wormwood and red-hot steel below--all in less than half a minute.
As for the others, looks of keen intelligence passed between them, and they watched with burning interest for the _denouement._ That interest was stronger than their sense of the comicality of all this (for the humorous view of what passes before our eyes comes upon cool reflection, not often at the time).
Sir Charles, indeed, who had foreseen some of this, wore a demure look, belied by his glittering eye. He offered Cibber snuff, and the two satirical animals grinned over the snuff-box, like a malicious old ape and a mischievous young monkey.
The newcomer was charming; she was above the middle height, of a full, though graceful figure, her abundant, glossy, bright brown hair glittered here and there like gold in the light; she had a snowy brow, eyes of the profoundest blue, a cheek like a peach, and a face beaming candor and goodness; the character of her countenance resembled "the Queen of the May," in Mr. Leslie's famous picture, more than any face of our day I can call to mind.
"You are not angry with me for this silly trick?" said she, with some misgiving. "After all I am only two hours before my time; you know, dearest, I said four in my letter--did I not?"
Vane stammered. What could he say?
"And you have had three days to prepare you, for I wrote, like a good wife, to ask leave before starting; but he never so much as answered my letter, madam." (This she addressed to Mrs. Woffington, who smiled by main force.)
"Why," stammered Vane, "could you doubt? I--I--"
"No! Silence was consent, was it not? But I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you will forgive me. It is six months since I saw him--so you understand--I warrant me you did not look for me so soon, ladies?"
"Some of us did not look for you at all, madam," said Mrs. Woffington.
"What, Ernest did not tell you he expected me?"
"No! He told us this banquet was in honor of a lady's first visit to his house, but none of us imagined that lady to be his wife."
Vane began to writhe under that terrible tongue, whose point hitherto had ever been turned away from him.
"He intended to steal a march on us," said Pomander, dryly; "and, with your help, we steal one on him;" and he smiled maliciously on Mrs.
Woffington.
"But, madam," said Mr. Quin, "the moment you did arrive, I kept sacred for you a bit of the fat; for which, I am sure, you must be ready. Pass her plate!"
"Not at present, Mr. Quin," said Mr. Vane, hastily. "She is about to retire and change her traveling-dress."
"Yes, dear; but, you forget, I am a stranger to your friends. Will you not introduce me to them first?"
"No, no!" cried Vane, in trepidation. "It is not usual to introduce in the _beau monde."_
"We always introduce ourselves," rejoined Mrs. Woffington. She rose slowly, with her eye on Vane. He cast a look of abject entreaty on her; but there was no pity in that curling lip and awful eye. He closed his own eyes and waited for the blow. Sir Charles threw himself back in his chair, and, chuckling, prepared for the explosion. Mrs. Woffington saw him, and cast on him a look of ineffable scorn; and then she held the whole company fluttering a long while. At length: "The Honorable Mrs.
Quickly, madam," said she, indicating Mrs. Clive.
This turn took them all by surprise. Pomander bit his lip.
"Sir John Brute--"
"Falstaff," cried Quin; "hang it."
"Sir John Brute Falstaff," resumed Mrs. Woffington. "We call him, for brevity, Brute."
Vane drew a long breath. "Your neighbor is Lord Foppington; a butterfly of some standing, and a little gouty."
"Sir Charles Pomander."
"Oh," cried Mrs. Vane. "It is the good gentleman who helped us out of the slough, near Huntingdon. Ernest, if it had not been for this gentleman, I should not have had the pleasure of being here now." And she beamed on the good Pomander.
Mr. Vane did not rise and embrace Sir Charles.
"All the company thanks the good Sir Charles," said Cibber, bowing.
"I see it in all their faces," said the good Sir Charles, dryly.
Mrs. Woffington continued: "Mr. Soaper, Mr. Snarl; gentlemen who would butter and slice up their own fathers!"
"Bless me!" cried Mrs. Vane, faintly.
"Critics!" And she dropped, as it were, the word dryly, with a sweet smile, into Mabel's plate.
Mrs. Vane was relieved; she had apprehended cannibals. London they had told her was full of curiosities.
"But yourself, madam?"
"I am the Lady Betty Modish; at your service."