Mrs. Vane cast an imploring look on Mrs. Woffington. "My things are not
come," said she. "And, Lady Betty, I had so much to tell him, and to be
sent away;" and the deep blue eyes began to fill.
Now Mrs. Woffington was determined that this lady, who she saw was
simple, should disgust her husband by talking twaddle before a band of
satirists. So she said warmly: "It is not fair on us. Pray, madam, your
budget of country news. Clouted cream so seldom comes to London quite
fresh."
"There, you see, Ernest," said the unsuspicious soul. "First, you must
know that Gray Gillian is turned out for a brood mare, so old George
won't let me ride her; old servants are such tyrants, my lady. And my
Barbary hen has laid two eggs; Heaven knows the trouble we had to bring
her to it. And Dame Best, that is my husband's old nurse, Mrs. Quickly,
has had soup and pudding from the Hall everyday; and once she went so far
as to say it wasn't altogether a bad pudding. She is not a very grateful
woman, in a general way, poor thing! I made it with these hands."
Vane writhed.
"Happy pudding!" observed Mr. Cibber.
"Is this mockery, sir?" cried Vane, with a sudden burst of irritation.
"No, sir; it is gallantry," replied Cibber, with perfect coolness.
"Will you hear a little music in the garden?" said Vane to Mrs.
Woffington, pooh-poohing his wife's news.
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