“That the lady may make a meal off you on your late return, sir? Nay, Mr. Kendal. The Wells are still the Wells, not the South Seas; but on the whole I am disposed to believe that the scheme of revenge of the woman scorned is fiercer, though perhaps not, at first sight, so primeval, in the region of Chalybeate Waters than in a cannibal island of the South Seas. Therefore—there is no time to be lost. Fly to your charmer, sir, and throw yourself at her feet. She may be thinking over some punishment for your having placed her in a false position for some days; but do not mind that. You can always console yourself with the reflection that a rod in pickle is much more satisfactory than a hand in pickle. Fly, my dear friend, fly; every moment is precious. Take my word for it, joy awaits you at the end of your journey.”
“‘Journeys end in lovers meeting,’” remarked Dr. Burney, with a slight suggestion of the setting of the words of the lyric by his old master, Dr. Arne.
At this moment a servant entered the room.
“The Streatham carriage is at the door, sir,” he announced.
Dr. Burney rose from his chair.
“I am forced to leave you, sir,” he said to Mr. Kendal. “But really there is naught further to consult on at present, and I know that you are impatient—it is but natural—to fly to the side of your charmer.”
“I am all impatience, sir; but with what words can I express my obligation to you, Doctor, for the benefit of your counsel?” cried Mr. Kendal.
Dr. Burney smiled.
“Nay, dear sir, I am but the lessee of the theatre where the comedy has been played,” said he; and he had good reason for feeling that he had defined with accuracy the position that he occupied. But Mr. Kendal was thinking too much about himself and the position he occupied to appreciate such nuances.