“Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,” said she. “Faith, sir, you gave him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the playhouse, I give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about you, Dr. Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them all. For instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it was the first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making an attempt upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional channel.”
“If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that, Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,” said Goldsmith. “Though, for that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand before me in that dress—ay, or any other.”
“Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of compliment—I sink under it, sir—thus,” and she made an exquisite courtesy. “Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses' heads are as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?”
“I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am extremely anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most accomplished should be moved,” said Goldsmith.
“You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a comedy as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than that of Miss Hardcastle.”
“I have the design of one in my head, madam.”
“Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And you have begun the comedy, sir?”
“I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the air. I want your assistance in that direction.”
“What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr. Goldsmith?”
“Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic as Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you give me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?”