TRIP. (aside). A guinea in my way, at least. Oh, madam, do but give me a subject.
WOFF. Let’s see—myself, if you can write on such a theme.
TRIP. ’Tis the one I would have chosen out of all the heathen mythology; the praises of Venus and the Graces. I will set about it at once (takes up portrait).
WOFF. (sees picture). But what have you there? not another tragedy?
TRIP. (blushing). A poor thing, madam, a portrait—my own painting, from memory.
WOFF. Oh! oh! I’m a judge of painted faces; let me see it.
TRIP. Nay, madam!
WOFF. I insist! (She takes off the baize.) My own portrait, as I live! and a good likeness too, or my glass flatters me like the rest of them. And this you painted from memory?
TRIP. Yes, madam; I have a free admission to every part of the theatre before the curtain. I have so enjoyed your acting, that I have carried your face home with me every night, forgive my presumption, and tried to fix in the studio the impression of the stage.