‘I am in love.—You start. You do not believe in an actor, who is always simulating affection, ever falling under the influence of a real and veritable passion.’
‘You wrong me; indeed, you do. The artistic nature is, and must be, more acutely sensitive than that possessed by ordinary mortals. Do I know the lady?’
‘You see her every day—when you contemplate those charming features in the glass. Yes; it is you, Miss Fonblanque, whom I love, whom I adore!’
How can we describe the flood of sensations which agitated the bosom of the heiress, as she listened to the avowal of affection from the lips of the only man she had ever loved! In low and trembling tones, she managed to reply: ‘Mr Montmorency, you are not rehearsing a scene in some new comedy?’
‘I was never more serious in my life.’
By this time, the pride of the Anstruthers had come to the assistance of the heiress. ‘I grieve very much that I cannot accept your offer. It is impossible.’
‘Impossible! Why?’
‘That I cannot explain.’
‘We are both members of the same profession, and so far equal.’
‘Pardon me,’ said Lady Teazle. ‘You know nothing of my antecedents, and’——