Good-humor reigned; some cuts passed, but as the
parties professed wit, they gave and took.
Quin carved the haunch, and was happy; Soaper and Snarl eating the same,
and drinking Toquay, were mellowed and mitigated into human flesh. Mr.
Vane and Mrs. Woffington were happy; he, because his conscience was
asleep; and she, because she felt nothing now could shake her hold of
him. Sir Charles was in a sort of mental chuckle. His head burned, his
bones ached; but he was in a sort of nervous delight.
"Where is she?" thought he. "What will she do? Will she send her maid
with a note? How blue he will look! Or will she come herself? She is a
country wife; there must be a scene. Oh, why doesn't she come into this
room? She must know we are here! is she watching somewhere?" His brain
became puzzled, and his senses were sharpened to a point; he was all eye,
ear and expectation; and this was why he was the only one to hear a very
slight sound behind the door we have mentioned, and next to perceive a
lady's glove lying close to that door. Mabel had dropped it in her
retreat. Putting this and that together, he was led to hope and believe
she was there, making her toilet, perhaps, and her arrival at present
unknown.
"Do you expect no one else?" said he, with feigned carelessness, to Mr.
Vane.
"No," said Mr. Vane, with real carelessness.
"It must be so! What fortune!" thought Pomander.
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