prise. Pomander bit his lip.

"Sir John Brute--"

"Falstaff," cried Quin; "hang it."

"Sir John Brute Falstaff," resumed Mrs. Woffington. "We call him, for
brevity, Brute."

Vane drew a long breath. "Your neighbor is Lord Foppington; a butterfly
of some standing, and a little gouty."

"Sir Charles Pomander."

"Oh," cried Mrs. Vane. "It is the good gentleman who helped us out
of the slough, near Huntingdon. Ernest, if it had not been for this
gentleman, I should not have had the pleasure of being here now." And
she beamed on the good Pomander.

Mr. Vane did not rise and embrace Sir Charles.

"All the company thanks the good Sir Charles," said Cibber, bowing.

"I see it in all their faces," said the good Sir Charles, dryly.

Mrs. Woffington continued: "Mr. Soaper, Mr. Snarl; gentlemen who would
butter and slice up their own fathers!"

"Bless me!" cried Mrs. Vane, faintly.

"Critics!" And she dropped, as it were, the word dryly, with a sweet
smile, into Mabel's plate.

Mrs. Vane was relieved; she had apprehended cannibals. London they had
told her was full of curiosities.

"But yourself, madam?"

"I am the Lady Betty Modish; at your service."

A four-inch grin went round the table. The dramatical old rascal,
Cibber, began now to look at it as a bit of genteel comedy; and slipped
out his note-book under the table. Pomander cursed her ready wit, which
had disappointed him of his catastrophe. Vane wrote on a slip of paper:
"Pity and respect the innocent!" and passed it to Mrs. Woffington. He
could not have done a more superfluous or injudicious thing.

"And now, Ernest," cried Mabel, "for the news from Willoughby."

Vane stopped her in dismay. He felt how many satirical eyes and ears
were upon him and his wife. "Pray go and change your dress first,
Mabel," cried he, fully determined that on her return she should not
find the present party there.

Mrs. Vane cast an imploring look on Mrs. Woffington. "My things are not
come," said she. "And, Lady Betty, I had so much to tell him, and to be
sent away;" and the deep blue eyes began to fill.

Now Mrs. Woffington was determined that this lady, who she saw was
simple, should disgust her husband by talking twaddle before a band of
satirists. So she said warmly: "It is not fair on us. Pray, madam, your
budget of country news. Clouted cream so seldom comes to London quite
fresh."

"There, you see, Ernest," said the unsuspicious soul. "First, you must
know th