"Have her out, Peggy!" shouted Cibber. "I know the run--there's the
covert! Hark, forward! Ha, ha, ha!"

Mr. Vane rose, and, with a sternness that brought the old beau up with
a run, he said: "Mr. Cibber, age and infirmity are privileged; but for
you, Sir Charles--"

"Don't be angry," interposed Mrs. Woffington, whose terror was lest he
should quarrel with so practiced a swordsman. "Don't you see it is a
jest! and, as might be expected from poor Sir Charles, a very sorry one.

"A jest!" said Vane, white with rage. "Let it go no further, or it will
be earnest!"

Mrs. Woffington placed her hand on his shoulder, and at that touch he
instantly yielded, and sat down.

It was at this moment, when Sir Charles found himself for the present
baffled--for he could no longer press his point, and search that room;
when the attention of all was drawn to a dispute, which, for a moment,
had looked like a quarrel; while Mrs. Woffington's hand still lingered,
as only a woman's hand can linger in leaving the shoulder of the man she
loves; it was at this moment the door opened of its own accord, and a
most beautiful woman stood, with a light step, upon the threshold!

Nobody's back was to her, except Mr. Vane's. Every eye but his was
spellbound upon her.

Mrs. Woffington withdrew her hand, as if a scorpion had touched her.

A stupor of astonishment fell on them all.

Mr. Vane, seeing the direction of all their eyes, slewed himself round
in his chair into a most awkward position, and when he saw the lady, he
was utterly dumfounded! But she, as soon as he turned his face her way,
glided up to him, with a little half-sigh, half-cry of joy, and taking
him round the neck, kissed him deliciously, while every eye at the table
met every other eye in turn. One or two of the men rose; for the lady's
beauty was as worthy of homage as her appearing was marvelous.

Mrs. Woffington, too astonished for emotion to take any definite shape,
said, in what seemed an ordinary tone: "Who is this lady?"

"I am his wife, madam," said Mabel, in the voice of a skylark, and
smiling friendly on the questioner.

"It is my wife!" said Vane, like a speaking-machine; he was scarcely in
a conscious state. "It is my wife!" he repeated, mechanically.

The words were no sooner out of Mabel's mouth than two servants, who had
never heard of Mrs. Vane before, hastened to place on Mr. Vane's right
hand the chair Pomander had provided, a plate and napkin were the