“Ah,” cried Mr. Bates triumphantly, “I knew that you were a sensible woman, asking your pardon again for my presumption. Your confession bears out my contention; and let me tell you that, on the stage, matters, so far from improving, are steadily degenerating. I hear that that young man Garrick is now more in vogue than that fine old actor, Mr. Quin. Think of it, madam! A wine merchant they say this Garrick was. Have you ever seen him?”
“Oh, yes,” said Kitty; “I have seen him.”
“And what may he be like?”
“Mr. Garrick is like no one, and no one is like Mr. Garrick,” said Kitty warmly.
“Ah!” Mr. Bates' lips were curled with a sneer that caused Kitty's feet to tap the floor nervously. “Ah! A little fellow, I understand—not up to my shoulder.”
“Physically, perhaps not,” Kitty replied. “But the stature of Mr. Garrick varies. I have seen him tower over every one on the stage—over every one in the playhouse; and again I have seen him dwindle until he was no higher than a child.”
Mr. Bates looked surprised.
“How does he manage that? A stage trick, I expect.”
“I dare say 't is so—merely that stage trick—genius.”
“He could not deceive me: I would take his measure,” said Mr. Bates, with a shrewd smirk.