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.
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