“Eminent—in the closet; the stage is to come!” and he smiled absurdly again.
The lady smiled back.
“In short,” said Triplet, recapitulating, “being blessed with health, and more tastes in the arts than most, and a cheerful spirit, I should be wrong, madam, to repine; and this day, in particular, is a happy one,” added the rose colorist, “since the great Mrs. Woffington has deigned to remember me, and call me friend.”
Such was Triplet's summary.
Mrs. Woffington drew out her memorandum-book, and took down her summary of the crafty Triplet's facts. So easy is it for us Triplets to draw the wool over the eyes of women and Woffingtons.
“Triplet, discharged from scene-painting; wife, no engagement; four children supported by his pen—that is to say, starving; lose no time!”
She closed her book; and smiled, and said:
“I wish these things were comedies instead of trash-edies, as the French call them; we would cut one in half, and slice away the finest passages, and then I would act in it; and you would see how the stage-door would fly open at sight of the author.”
“O Heaven!” said poor Trip, excited by this picture. “I'll go home, and write a comedy this moment.”
“Stay!” said she; “you had better leave the tragedies with me.”