Another fortnight passed to the mutual satisfaction of the lovers. To Vane it was a dream of rapture to be near this great creature, whom thousands admired at such a distance; to watch over her, to take her to the theater in a warm shawl, to stand at the wing and receive her as she came radiant from her dressing-room, to watch her from her rear as she stood like some power about to descend on the stage, to see her falcon-like stoop upon the said stage, and hear the burst of applause that followed, as the report does the flash; to compare this with the spiritless crawl with which common artists went on, tame from their first note to their last; to take her hand when she came off, feel how her nerves were strung like a greyhound's after a race, and her whole frame in a high even glow, with the great Pythoness excitement of art.
And to have the same great creature leaning her head on his shoulder, and listening with a charming complacency, while he purred to her of love and calm delights, alternate with still greater triumphs; for he was to turn dramatic writer, for her sake, was to write plays, a woman the hero, and love was to inspire him, and passion supply the want of pencraft. (You make me laugh, Mr. Vane!)
All this was heavenly.
And then with all her dash, and fire, and bravado, she was a thorough woman.
"Margaret!"
"Ernest!"
"I want to ask you a question. Did you really cry because that Miss Bellamy had dresses from Paris?"
"It does not seem very likely."
"No, but tell me; did you?"
"Who said I did?"
"Mr. Cibber."
"Old fool!"
"Yes, but did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Cry!"
"Ernest, the minx's dresses were beautiful."
"No doubt. But did you cry?"
"And mine were dirty; I don't care about gilt rags, but dirty dresses, ugh!"
"Tell me, then."
"Tell you what?"
"Did you cry or not?"
"Ah! he wants to find out whether I am a fool, and despise me."
"No, I think I should love you better. For hitherto I have seen no weakness in you, and it makes me uncomfortable."
"Be comforted! Is it not a weakness to like you!"
"You are free from that weakness, or you would gratify my curiosity."
"Be pleased to state, in plain, intelligible English, what you require of me."
"I want to know, in one word, did you cry or not?"
"Promise to tease me no more then, and I'll tell you."
"I promise."
"You won't despise me?"
"Despise you! of course not."
"Well, then--I don't remember!"
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. Woffington, and pinched his arm. This frightened the rat, who disappeared. She burst out laughing: "There's a fool! The thing did not frighten me, and the name did. Depend upon it, it's true what they say--that off the stage, I am the greatest fool there is. I'll never be so absurd again. Ah! ah! ah! here it is again" (scream and pinch, as before). "Do take me from this horrid place, where monsters come from the great deep."
And she flounced away, looking daggers askant at the place the rat had vacated in equal terror.
All this was silly, but it pleases us men, and contrast is so charming!
This same fool was brimful of talent--and cunning, too, for that matter.
She played late that night, and Mr. Vane saw the same creature, who dared not stay where she was liable to a distant rat, spring upon the stage as a gay rake, and flash out her rapier, and act valor's king to the life, and seem ready to eat up everybody, King Fear included; and then, after her brilliant sally upon the public, Sir Harry Wildair came and stood beside Mr. Vane. Her bright skin, contrasted with her powdered periwig, became dazzling. She used little rouge, but that little made her eyes two balls of black lightning. From her high instep to her polished forehead, all was symmetry. Her leg would have been a sculptor's glory; and the curve from her waist to her knee was Hogarth's line itself.
She stood like Mercury new lighted on a heaven-kissing hill. She placed her foot upon the ground, as she might put a hand upon her lover's shoulder. We indent it with our eleven undisguised stone.
Such was Sir Harry Wildair, who stood by Mr. Vane, glittering with diamond buckles, gorgeous with rich satin breeches, velvet coat, ruffles, _pictcae vestis et auri;_ and as she bent her long eye-fringes down on him (he was seated), all her fiery charms gradually softened and quivered down to womanhood.
"The first time I was here," said Vane, "my admiration of you broke out to Mr. Cibber; and what do you think he said?"
"That you praised me, for me to hear you. Did you?"
"Acquit me of such meanness."
"Forgive me. It is just what I should have done, had I been courting an actress."
"I think you have not met many ingenuous spirits, dear friend."
"Not one, my child."
This was a phrase she often applied to him now.
"The old fellow pretended to hear what I said, too; and I am sure you did not-- did you?"
"Guess."
"I guess not."
