rest Theo, when I went home, looked so pale and white, that
I saw from the dear creature's countenance that the knowledge of my
disaster had preceded my return. Spencer, Sampson, cousin Hagan, and
Lady Maria were to come after the play, and congratulate the author, God
wot! (Poor Miss Pritchard was engaged to us likewise, but sent word
that I must understand that she was a great deal too unwell to sup that
night.) My friend the gardener of Bedford House had given my wife his
best flowers to decorate her little table. There they were; the poor
little painted standards--and the battle lost! I had borne the defeat
well enough, but as I looked at the sweet pale face of the wife across
the table, and those artless trophies of welcome which she had set up
for her hero, I confess my courage gave way, and my heart felt a pang
almost as keen as any that ever has smitten it.

Our meal, it may be imagined, was dismal enough, nor was it rendered
much gayer by the talk we strove to carry on. Old Mrs. Hagan was,
luckily, very ill at this time; and her disease, and the incidents
connected with it, a great blessing to us. Then we had his Majesty's
approaching marriage, about which there was a talk. (How well I remember
the most futile incidents of the day down to a tune which a carpenter
was whistling by my side at the playhouse, just before the dreary
curtain fell!) Then we talked about the death of good Mr. Richardson,
the author of Pamela and Clarissa, whose works we all admired
exceedingly. And as we talked about Clarissa, my wife took on herself to
wipe her eyes once or twice, and say, faintly, "You know, my love,
mamma and I could never help crying over that dear book. Oh, my dearest,
dearest mother" (she adds), "how I wish she could be with me now!" This
was an occasion for more open tears, for of course a young lady may
naturally weep for her absent mother. And then we mixed a gloomy bowl
with Jamaica limes, and drank to the health of his Excellency the
Governor: and then, for a second toast, I filled a bumper, and, with a
smiling face, drank to "our better fortune!"

This was too much. The two women flung themselves into each other's
arms, and irrigated each other's neck-handkerchiefs with tears. "Oh,
Maria! Is not--is not my George good and kind?" sobs Theo. "Look at my
Hagan--how great, how godlike he was in his part!" gasps Maria. "It was
a beastly cabal which threw him over--and I could plunge this knife into
Mr. Garrick'