ted the place carefully, and announced that it was
"his heart."

"And he can't even write it!" said she. "That word is 'earth.' Ah! well,
you know best. There is your letter, Sir Charles."

She courtesied, returned him the letter, and resumed her study of
Lothario.

"Favor me with your answer, madam," said her suitor.

"You have it," was the reply.

"Madam, I don't understand your answer," said Sir Charles, stiffly.

"I can't find you answers and understandings, too," was the lady-like
reply. "You must beat my answer into your understanding while I beat
this man's verse into mine.

'And like the birds, etc.'"

Pomander recovered himself a little; he laughed with quiet insolence.
"Tell me," said he, "do you really refuse?"

"My good soul," said Mrs. Woffington, "why this surprise! Are you so
ignorant of the stage and the world as not to know that I refuse such
offers as yours every week of my life?"

"I know better," was the cool reply. She left it unnoticed.

"I have so many of these," continued she, "that I have begun to forget
they are insults."

At this word the button broke off Sir Charles's foil.

"Insults, madam! They are the highest compliments you have left it in
our power to pay you."

The other took the button off her foil.

"Indeed!" cried she, with well-feigned surprise. "Oh! I understand.
To be your mistress could be but a temporary disgrace; to be your wife
would be a lasting discredit," she continued. "And now, sir, having
played your rival's game, and showed me your whole hand" (a light broke
in upon our diplomat), "do something to recover the reputation of a man
of the world. A gentleman is somewhere about in whom you have interested
me by your lame satire; pray tell him I am in the green-room, with no
better companion than this bad poet."

Sir Charles clinched his teeth.

"I accept the delicate commission," replied he, "that you may see how
easily the man of the world drops what the rustic is eager to pick up."

"That is better," said the actress, with a provoking appearance of
good-humor. "You have a woman's tongue, if not her wit; but, my good
soul," added she, with cool _hauteur,_ "remember you have something to
do of more importance than anything you can say."

"I accept your courteous dismissal, madam," said Pomander, grinding his
teeth. "I will send a carpenter for your swain. And I leave you."

He bowed to the ground.

"Thanks for the double favor, good Sir Charle