“O, your servant, Madam. I’m a very indifferent judge, you know. What? Is it with sleeves?”
(She languished and pouted at him)
“O, impossible to tell you what it is. ’Tis all extravagance both in mode and fancy, my dear. I believe there’s six thousand yards of edging in it. Then, such an enchanting slope from the elbow—so lively, so noble, so coquette—”
She broke off laughing.
“Now, am I a stick, Lady Easy?”
“My dear, you’re perfection’s self!” cries Mr. Rich. Then cautiously recollecting himself, because this might count in the salary, he said:
“Consider yourself bespoke for Polly, Mrs. Beswick. And I would have you meet Mr. Gay tomorrow and consider the part with him. For though authors be very blundering in stagecraft, expecting the impossible and indeed a general hindrance, still they can’t be altogether set aside. Be pleased therefore to be here tomorrow at the hour of eleven in the morning when the conditions shall be adjusted to your satisfaction and mine.”
She clasped her hands and looked at him in a kind of ravishment.
“And is it really true? Sir, what shall I say to you? O, I will play as you never saw woman play yet—no, not even the great Mrs. Oldfield. You see me now but in hood and cloak, but when dressed to advantage, my hair curled and frizzed about my face in the mode, I trust you will admit my person not negligible. Indeed I won’t disappoint you and to the last day of my life I will murmur to myself— ‘ ’Tis to Mr. Rich I owe all I have and am!’
“ ’Tisn’t, my dear!” says he, surprised into candour. “ ’Tis to an uncommonly lavish nature you owe it and not to an curmudgeon like me. But I’ll be a true friend to you so long as you deserve it. Perhaps longer, if I look into your eyes. But a word on that. My own orbs are spectacled with good sense and a fine woman doesn’t strike the youthful fire out of them as once she did. Come—in your ear. Other and younger eyes will kindle at yours.— Are you an honest girl, child? or is there any gentleman behind you to put you forward and live on your earnings?”