Vane's company to come and praise his
work; and ever since that he had been _morne et silencieux._
"You are fortunate," continued Mrs. Woffington, not caring what she said;
"it is so difficult to make execution keep pace with conception."
"Yes, ma'am;" and he painted on.
"You are satisfied with it?"
"Anything but, ma'am;" and he painted on.
"Cheerful soul!--then I presume it is like?"
"Not a bit, ma'am;" and he painted on.
Mrs. Woffington stretched.
"You can't yawn, ma'am--you can't yawn."
"Oh, yes, I can. You are such good company;" and she stretched again.
"I was just about to catch the turn of the lip," remonstrated Triplet.
"Well, catch it--it won't run away."
"I'll try, ma'am. A pleasant half-hour it will be for me, when they all
come here like cits at a shilling ordinary--each for his cut."
"At a sensitive goose!"
"That is as may be, madam. Those critics flay us alive!"
"You should not hold so many doors open to censure."
"No, ma'am. Head a little more that way. I suppose you _can't_ sit quiet,
ma'am?--then never mind!" (This resignation was intended as a stinging
reproach.) "Mr. Cibber, with his sneering snuff-box! Mr. Quin, with his
humorous bludgeon! Mrs. Clive, with her tongue! Mr. Snarl, with his
abuse! And Mr. Soaper, with his praise!--arsenic in treacle I call it!
But there, I deserve it all! For look on this picture, and on this!"
"Meaning, I am painted as well as my picture!"
"Oh, no, no, no! But to turn from your face, madam--on which the
lightning of expression plays, continually--to this stony, detestable,
dead daub!--I could-- And I will, too! Imposture! dead caricature of life
and beauty, take that!" and he dashed his palette-knife through the
canvas.
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