Clare crept into her bed; she felt tired all over. Passing before her eyes in charm and beauty, she saw again in recollection, Miss Hippesley, Mrs. Billington, Lady Crosbie, and Miss Ridge. Barry strutted before her, chatting in brisk self-satisfaction, and once more Miss Lavinia Fenton raised her hands and eyes.
“I wonder why Peg Woffington said Doctor Johnson had snuff on his shirt-front,” she said to herself, sleepily, “and that his linen wasn’t——” But she didn’t finish the sentence even to herself. She knew it was but a poor mind that dwells upon the weaknesses of great men.
CHAPTER XII
I saw these glassy messengers of pain
Drench her cheeks damask in a watery rout,
Of salty rush and follow.
Till one,
A Laggard in its sorry chase
Gather’d more slowly on the china’s pale curve
Where it hung trembling, in a globy dance