“I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my word; he has treated me cruelly—more cruelly than he has any idea of,” said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. “But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes much to you, sir.”
“Faith then, sir,” cried Lewes, “I'll keep you to your word. My benefit will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr. Goldsmith.”
“You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,” said Goldsmith.
And so he had.
When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue, Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs. Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head, and affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through half-closed eyes.
“Dr. Goldsmith,” she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility, “I hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray of you not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at having resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I might have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.”
“Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?” said he. “Nay, I have a part in my mind for you already—that is, if you will be good enough to accept it.”
“Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!” cried the actress, offering him both her hands. “I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr. Goldsmith.”
