“Your fame runs no risk from me, sir!” replied Triplet.
“It is not like Peggy's beauty! Eh?” rejoined Quin.
“I can't agree with you,” cried Kitty Clive. “I think it a very pretty face; and not at all like Peg Woffington's.”
“Compare paint with paint,” said Quin. “Are you sure you ever saw down to Peggy's real face?”
Triplet had seen with alarm that Mr. Snarl spoke not; many satirical expressions crossed his face, but he said nothing. Triplet gathered from this that he had at once detected the trick. “Ah!” thought Triplet, “he means to quiz them, as well as expose me. He is hanging back; and, in point of fact, a mighty satirist like Snarl would naturally choose to quiz six people rather than two.”
“Now I call it beautiful!” said the traitor Soaper. “So calm and reposeful; no particular expression.”
“None whatever,” said Snarl.
“Gentlemen,” said Triplet, “does it never occur to you that the fine arts are tender violets, and cannot blow when the north winds—”
“Blow!” inserted Quin.
“Are so cursed cutting?” continued Triplet.