“Your deception in this matter could only have added to your reputation for accuracy,” said Garrick coolly. “For I vow that were you to confess that you were forty-eight, you would find none to believe you.”
The gentleman’s eyes twinkled, he pursed out his lips, and once again manœuvred to get a full-length view of himself in the long mirror. He put out his right leg and assumed the attitude of a dancing master giving the pas for the minuet de cour.
“Well, well,” he cried, “if that be your opinion—and I happen to know that ’tis shared by others—it might not be unwise to allow the assumption, erroneous though it be, to continue. We will not undeceive the good folk. And you do not think that a bachelor of forty-eight—What is the name of that play of Mr. Sheridan’s that took the town a year ago—ah, The School for Scandal—you are sure that our friends will not call me—What was the gentleman’s name?”
“No one who knows how excellent are your principles will think of you either as Charles or Joseph, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick.
“No, no; but the one who was in my mind was neither of the brothers. I was thinking of—was it not Sir Peter Teazle?”
Garrick as well as Burney laughed heartily, for the man at that moment suggested by his attitude and expression the Sir Peter Teazle of Kina, the actor.
“Make your mind easy on that score, sir,” said Dr. Burney. “It is not your purpose to wed so skittish a young person as Lady Teazle. That was where Sir Peter showed his folly.”
“No, no; Mrs. Nash is more mature, certainly, than Mrs. Abington looked in the part,” said Mr. Kendal confidently, and Lieutenant Burney was about to agree with him boisterously, but Garrick did not give him a chance.
“There is none that will not commend your choice, Mr. Kendal—ay, sir, and look on you with envy as well,” he cried.
“There can be no doubt about it,” said Mr. Kendal doubtfully. “The widow Nash is a monstrous fine woman.”