Woffington's humble, devoted
servant." He bowed ridiculously low, and moved toward the door; but
something gushed across his heart, and he returned with long strides to
her. "Madam!" cried he, with a jaunty manner, "you have inspired a son of
Thespis with dreams of eloquence, you have tuned in a higher key a poet's
lyre, you have tinged a painter's existence with brighter colors,
and--and--" His mouth worked still, but no more artificial words would
come. He sobbed out, "and God in heaven bless you, Mrs. Woffington!" and
ran out of the room.
Mrs. 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.
"Sir Charles Pomander, I declare!" said the actress.
"I have just parted with an admirer of yours.
"I wish I could part with them all," was the reply.
"A pastoral youth, who means to win La Woffington by agricultural
courtship--as shepherds woo in sylvan shades."
"With oaten pipe the rustic maids,"
quoth the Woffington, improvising.
The diplomat laughed, the actress laughed, and said, laughingly: _"Tell
me what he says word for word?"_
"It will only make you laugh.
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