“I should be ashamed of myself,” she muttered. “David Garrick is the only one of the whole crew at the Lane that never varies. He 's the only one that 's always at his best. God forgive me for the way. I sometimes try to spoil his scenes, for he 's worth Quinn, Macklin, and Barry bound up in one; only why does he keep his purse-strings so close? Ah, if he only had a pint of Irish blood in his veins.”
She yawned, for her contests with Garrick did not cause her any great concern; and then she tucked up her feet upon the settle and hummed an air from the Beggars' Opera. Hearing the sound of wheels she paused, listening.
“Sure it can't be the coach with my brother yet awhile,” said she. “Ah, no, 't is the sound of a chaise, not a coach.” She resumed her lilting of the air; but once again it was interrupted. Just outside the door of the room there was the sound of an altercation. The voice of the landlord was heard, apparently remonstrating with a very self-assertive person.
“I know my rights, sir, let me tell you,” this person shouted. “Lady me no ladies, sir; I have a right to enter the room—'t is a public room. Zounds, sir, cannot you perceive that I am a gentleman, if I am an actor?”
“I'll dare swear he could n't,” muttered Mrs. Clive.
“Nay, sir, you shall not intrude on the privacy of a lady,” came the voice of the landlord.
“Out of the way, sirrah,” the other cried, and at the same moment the door was flung open, and a tall young man wearing a travelling cloak and boots strode into the room followed by the landlord, at whom he turned scowling at every step.
“Madam, I give you my word that I am not to blame; the gentleman would come in,” cried the landlord.
“That will do, sir,” said the stranger. “I myself will make whatever apology may be needed. I flatter myself that I have had to make many apologies before now.”
“Madam,” continued the landlord, “I told him that you—”