“Pardon me, Mrs. Abington”—Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely—“pardon me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.”
In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let it be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America; and how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to him, but had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them the appearance of having been written by a guilty woman.
“The lady is prostrated with grief,” he said, concluding his story. “The very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.”
“'Tis a sad story indeed,” said Mrs. Abington. “The man is as bad as bad can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know that all the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of Scotland 'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of guineas, Dr. Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?”
“That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,” said Goldsmith.
“Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not in the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,” cried the lady. “Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in a bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego the dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the coins.”
“You may be right,” said he. “But whence are the guineas to come, pray?”
“Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a couple of hundred pounds.”
“Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends! She would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she had written letters of affection to such a man.”
“She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.”