“Nor did I,” cried the other. “But what was I to think when I had advanced no more than a dozen paces, and found my hand grasped warmly by Sir John Dingle?—you know him, Mr. Garrick—I have seen him in your company—more congratulations—the same attitude, sir. And then up marches Mr. Sheridan—leaving his handsome wife—ah, I fear that I joined with all Bath in being in love with the lovely Miss Linley—and Mr. Sheridan was wellnigh affronted at my denial. But that was not all. Up comes Mrs. Cholmondeley in her chair and tapped for the men to set her down when she saw me—up went the roof and up went her head, with a shrill cry of ‘Kendal, you rogue! to tell everyone at the Wells save only myself that Benedick is to be a married man!’ And before she had finished her ridicule of my denial, up struts Mrs. Thrale, her footman behind her with her spaniel, and down she sinks in a curtsey, fitted only for a special night in the Rooms, and her ‘Happy man!’ came with a flick of her fan; and she, too, named Mrs. Nash! And that was not the last—I saw them hurrying up to me from all sides—ladies with smiles, and gentlemen with smirks—fingers twitching for my ribs—down they flowed upon me! I ask you, Lieutenant Burney, as a naval gentleman, and I am glad to have the opportunity of hearing your opinion—I ask you, if I was not justified in turning about and hastening away—what you nautical gentlemen term ‘cutting my cable’?”
“Indeed, sir; if I could believe that you gave the lady no encouragement, I would say that—that—but no one will convince me that upon some occasion—it may be forgotten by you—such men of fashion as yourself soon forget these things, I have heard, though the unhappy lady treasures them as golden memories—I say upon some occasion you may have given the Widow Nash encouragement. You have your reputation as a sly rogue to maintain, Mr. Kendal,” said young Burney gravely, as though he were a lawyer being seriously consulted.
“Fore Gad, sir, I gave her no encouragement,” cried Mr. Kendal. “I have ever been most cautious, I swear.”
“Then the greater shame for you, sir,” said Garrick.
The man whom he addressed looked in amazement first at Garrick, then at Lieutenant Burney—Dr. Burney, whom he had come to consult, was smiling quite unnoticed in a corner. His part apparently, was no more than that of the looker-on at a comedy. His presence was ignored by the others.
“The more shame—the more—” began the visitor. “I protest that I scarcely take your meaning, Mr. Garrick.”
“My meaning is plain, sir,” said Garrick firmly, almost sternly. “I affirm that it lay with you, when you perceived that the lady was so deeply enamoured of you—”
“But I did not perceive it—you have my word for it.”
“Ah, sir,” said Garrick, with the shrug of a Frenchman, which he had studied for some months in Paris—Mr. Garrick and Lord Chesterfield had alone mastered the art. “Ah, sir, we are all men of the world here. ’Twere idle for you to pretend that a gentleman with the figure of the Belvedere Apollo and the leg of—of—” he turned to young Burney—“You have seen the proud-stepping figure-heads of many ships of the line, Mr. Burney,” he said; “prithee help me out in my search for—for—the name I am in search of.”