MABEL (_violently_). No! I will not dog my husband's steps at the bidding of his treacherous friend (_watches Pomander out_). POM. (_aside_). She will watch them. [_Exit._ [_After a moment or two of irresolution, Mabel crouches down behind a chair. Enter Vane C. L. conducting Woffington: they pass without observing Mabel._] VANE. But one word--I can explain all. Let me accompany you to this painter's. I am ready to renounce credit--character--wife--all for you! WOFF. I go alone, sir. Call Mrs. Woffington's coach. [_Exit Woff. followed by Vane._ MABEL (_starting from seat_). Oh, no, no!--you cannot use me so. Ernest! Husband! (_tries to rush towards L. D. Swoons. Vane returns._) VANE. Who called me? Mabel--my wife! (_stamps_) help, here!--what have I done? (_He raises her in his arms._) [END OF ACT I.] ACT II. SCENE.--_A large roughly furnished Garret. Easel with Woffington's Picture on it, half concealed by a green baize Drapery. Colours, Palette, Pencils, Maulstick, &c. &c. Mrs. Triplet reclining in a large chair, and wrapped up like an invalid. Violin hanging against wall. Triplet seated at small Table writing. Two Children. Wooden Chairs. Boy is rocking Cradle and singing._ TRIP. Do keep those children quiet, Jane. MRS. T. Hush, my dears, let your father write his comedy. Comedy seems so troublesome to write. TRIP. Yes! somehow sorrow comes more natural to me! (_pause_) I've got a bright thought; you see, Jane, they are all at a sumptuous banquet: all the Dramatis Personæ except the poet, (_writes_) music--sparkling wine--massive plate--soups--fish--shall I have three dishes of fish? venison--game--pickles and provocatives in the centre, then up jumps one of the guests, and says he-- BOY. Oh, dear! I am so hungry! GIRL. And so am I. TRIP. That is an absurd remark, Lysimachus, not four hours after breakfast. BOY. But father--there wasn't any breakfast for breakfast! TRIP. Now I ask you, Mrs. Triplet--how am I to write comic scenes, if you let Lysimachus and Roxalana there put the heavy business in every five minutes? MRS. T. Forgive them, the poor things _are_ hungry! TRIP. Then they must learn to be hungry in another room. They shan't cling round my pen and paralyze it, just when it is going to make all our fortunes (_rises_); but you women have no consideration--send 'em all to bed, every man Jack of 'em (_children raise a doleful cry_). Hungry! hungry! Is that a proper expression to use before a father who is sitting down (_seats himself_), all gaiety--and hilarity to write a Com-- a Com-- (_chokes_)? Where's the youngest--where's Cleopatra? (_Mrs. T. brings child to him--he takes her on his knee._) GIRL. Father, I'm not so very hungry! BOY (_who has come to his Father_). And I'm not hungry at all--I had a piece of bread and butter yesterday! TRIP. Wife; they'll drive me mad! BOY (_sotto voce_). Mother; father made us hungry out of his book. GIRL. Is it a cookery book, father?