“With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr. Goldsmith.”
“I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I have to tell you.”
“Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.”
“How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?”
“Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his family—a critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your face suggested.”
“I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for help.”
“Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light—which I take to be the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman—he is too powerful for me, I frankly confess.”
“Mine is a male fiend.”
“Not the manager of a theatre—another form of the same hue?”
“Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.”