“What, are you so unreasonable as to think that 't is a wife's duty to remain at home while her husband amuses himself at Vauxhall?”
“Nay, but my wife—”
“Is a vastly pretty young creature, sir, whom a hundred men as exacting as her husband, would think it a pleasure to attend at the Gardens or the Pantheon.”
“She is, beyond doubt a sweet young creature; but Lord, madam, she is so bound up in her baby that she can give no thought to her husband; and as for other men—did you see the youth who was beside her?”
“To be sure I did. He was devoted to her—and so good looking! I give you my word, sir, I never saw anyone with whose looks I was better pleased.”
“Zounds, madam, if I had got near him I would have spoilt his good looks, I promise you. Good Lord! to think that my wife—I tried to get close to her, but the pair seemed to vanish mysteriously.” “You would have been better employed looking for me. But we will arrange for another evening, you and I, Mr. Lewis.”
“Yes, we will—we will.”
There was not much heartiness in the way Mr. Lewis assented; and when the lady tried to get him to fix upon an evening, he excused himself in a feeble way.
The day following he walked with her to her house after rehearsal, but he did not think it necessary to make use of any of those phrases of gallantry in which he had previously indulged. He talked a good deal of his wife and her attractions. He had bought her a new gown, he said, and, beyond a doubt, it would be difficult to find a match for her in grace and sweetness. He declined Mrs. Abington's invitation to enter the house. He had to hurry home, he said, having promised to take his wife by water to Greenwich Park.
The actress burst into a merry laugh as she stood before the drawing of Sir Harry Wildair.