At this moment the pair were startled by the sound of a coach. Triplet turned as pale as ashes. Mrs. Woffington had her misgivings; but, not choosing to increase the difficulty, she would not let Triplet, whose self-possession she doubted, see any sign of emotion in her.
“Lock the door,” said she, firmly, “and don't be silly. Now hold up my green baize petticoat, and let me be in a half-light. Now put that table and those chairs before me, so that they can't come right up to me; and, Triplet, don't let them come within six yards, if you can help it. Say it is unfinished, and so must be seen from a focus.”
“A focus! I don't know what you mean.”
“No more do I; no more will they, perhaps; and if they don't they will swallow it directly. Unlock the door. Are they coming?”
“They are only at the first stair.”
“Mr. Triplet, your face is a book, where one may read strange matters. For Heaven's sake, compose yourself. Let all the risk lie in one countenance. Look at me, sir. Make your face like the Book of Daniel in a Jew's back parlor. Volto Sciolto is your cue.”
“Madam, madam, how your tongue goes! I hear them on the stairs. Pray don't speak!”
“Do you know what we are going to do?” continued the tormenting Peggy. “We are going to weigh goose's feathers! to criticise criticism, Trip—”
“Hush! hush!”
A grampus was heard outside the door, and Triplet opened it. There was Quin leading the band.