DURING the garden scene, Mr. Vane had begged Mrs. Woffington to let him
accompany her. She peremptorily refused, and said in the same breath she
was going to Triplet, in Hercules Buildings, to have her portrait
finished.
Had Mr. Vane understood the sex, he would not have interpreted her
refusal to the letter; when there was a postscript, the meaning of which
was so little enigmatical.
Some three hours after the scene we have described, Mrs. Woffington sat
in Triplet's apartment; and Triplet, palette in hand, painted away upon
her portrait.
Mrs. Woffington was in that languid state which comes to women after
their hearts have received a blow. She felt as if life was ended, and but
the dregs of existence remained; but at times a flood of bitterness
rolled over her, and she resigned all hope of perfect happiness in this
world--all hope of loving and respecting the same creature; and at these
moments she had but one idea--to use her own power, and bind her lover to
her by chains never to be broken; and to close her eyes, and glide down
the precipice of the future.
"I think you are master of this art," said she, very languidly, to
Triplet, "you paint so rapidly."
"Yes, madam," said Triplet, gloomily; and painted on. "Confound this
shadow!" added he; and painted on.
His soul, too, was clouded. Mrs. Woffington, yawning in his face, had
told him she had invited all Mr.
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