I had never liked Mr. Harris personally, for I was wont to think his conceit quite overweening beside the unalterable modesty of Mr. Betterton, who was so incomparably his Superior; and I was indeed pleased to see that both the Dowager Lady—who, I understood, was the Marchioness of Badlesmere—and the younger Ladies and Gentlemen felt mischievously inclined to torment him.
"What is your opinion, Mr. Harris?" my Lady Badlesmere was saying to the discomfited Actor. "It would be interesting to know one Player's opinion of another."
She had a spy-glass, through which she regarded him quizzically, whilst a mocking smile played around her thin lips. This, no doubt, caused poor Mr. Harris to lose countenance, for as a rule he is very glib of tongue. But just now he mouthed and stammered, appeared unable to find his words.
"It cannot be denied, your Ladyship," he began sententiously enough, "that Mr. Betterton's gestures are smooth and pleasant, though they perhaps lack the rhythmic grandeur ... the dignified sweep ... of ... of ... the..."
He was obviously floundering, and the old Lady broke in with a rasping laugh and a tone of somewhat acid sarcasm.
"Of the gestures of Mr. Harris, you mean, eh?"
"No, Madam," he retorted testily, and distinctly nettled. "I was about to say 'of the gestures of our greatest Actors.'"
"Surely the same thing, dear Mr. Harris," a young Lady rejoined with well-assumed demureness, and dropped him a pert little curtsey.
I might have been sorry for the Man—for of a truth these small pin-pricks must have been very irritating to his Vanity, already sorely wounded by a younger Rival's triumph—but for the fact that he then waxed malicious, angered no doubt by hearing a veritable Chorus of Eulogy proceeding from that other group of Ladies and Gentlemen of which Mr. Betterton was the centre.
I do not know, as a matter of fact, who it was who first gave a spiteful turning to the bantering, mocking Conversation of awhile ago; but in my mind I attributed this malice to Lord Douglas Wychwoode, who came up with his clerical friend just about this time, in order to pay his respects to the Marchioness of Badlesmere, who, I believe, is a near Relative of his. Certain it is that very soon after his arrival upon the scene, I found that every one around him was talking about the abominable Episode, the very thought of which sent my blood into a Fever and my thoughts running a veritable riot of Revenge and of Hate. Of course, Mr. Harris was to the fore with pointed Allusions to the grave Insult done to an eminent Artist, and which, to my thinking, should have been condemned by every right-minded Man or Woman who had a spark of lofty feeling in his or her heart.