Sir Charles inspected 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.
“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.
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.”
“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.”
“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.”