The young loved her, and the old man, softened and vanquished, and
mindful of his failing life, was silent, and pressed his handkerchief to
his eyes a moment; then he said:
"No, Bracy, no. Be composed, I pray you. She is right. Young people,
forgive me that I love the dead too well, and the days when I was what
you are now. Drat the woman," continued he, half ashamed of his emotion;
"she makes us laugh, and makes us cry, just as she used."
"What does he say, young woman?" said the old lady, dryly, to Mrs. Clive.
"He says you make us laugh, and make us cry, madam; and so you do me, I'm
sure."
"And that's Peg Woffington's notion of an actress! Better it, Cibber and
Bracegirdle, if you can," said the other, rising up like lightning.
She then threw Colley Cibber a note, and walked coolly and rapidly out of
the room, without looking once behind her.
The rest stood transfixed, looking at one another, and at the empty
chair. Then Cibber opened and read the note aloud. It was from Mrs.
Bracegirdle: "Playing at tric-trac; so can't play the fool in your
green-room to-night. B."
On this, a musical ringing laugh was heard from outside the door, where
the pseudo Bracegirdle was washing the gray from her hair, and the
wrinkles from her face--ah! I wish I could do it as easily!-- and the
little bit of sticking-plaster from her front tooth.
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