The wretches then began to banter him, and bade him put forth his head; but he would neither move nor speak. At last they turned the conversation to me. 'I wonder can he be ghosting her all this time?' said Betterton. 'Well,' cried the fellow who had personated Sir Charles Grandison, 'I ought to have played the ghost, I am so much taller than he.' 'Not unless you could act it better than you did Grandison,' said the late Lady Sympathina. 'No, no, I was the person who performed my part well;--pouring a vial of hot water down her neck, by way of tears; and frightening her out of her senses by talking of a face like a pumpkin!' 'Nay,' cried my Lord Montmorenci, 'the best piece of acting you ever saw was when I first met her at the theatre, and persuaded her that Abraham Grundy was Lord Altamont Mortimer Montmorenci.' 'Except,' said Betterton, 'when I played old Whylome Eftsoones, at the masquerade, and made her believe that Cherry Wilkinson was Lady Cherubina De Willoughby.' I turned quite sick; but I had no time for thought, the thunderclaps came so thick upon me. 'She had some mad notion of the kind before,' said Grundy (I have done with calling him Montmorenci), 'for she fancied that an old piece of parchment, part of a lease of lives, was an irrefragable proof of her being Lady De Willoughby.' 'Ay,' cried Betterton, 'and of poor Wilkinson's being her persecutor, instead of her father; on the strength of which vagary he lies at this moment in a madhouse.' 'But,' said Grundy, 'her setting up for a heroine, and her affectation while imitating the manners and language that authors chuse to give their heroines, would make a tiger laugh. I vow and protest, our amorous interview, where she first told her love, was the most burlesque exhibition in nature. I am thine, and thou art mine! whimpered the silly girl, sinking on my bosom. She now says she does not love me. Don't believe a syllable of it. Why, the poor creature could not even bridle her passion in my presence. Such hugging and kissing as she went on with, that, as I hope to be saved, I sometimes thought she would suffocate me outright.' ''Tis false as hell!' cried I, bursting into tears, and running from behind the curtain. 'Upon my sacred honour, ladies and gentlemen, 'tis every word of it a vile, malicious, execrable falsehood! Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?' and I wrung my hands with agony. The guests had risen from their seats in amaze; and I now made a spring towards the door, but was intercepted by Betterton, who held me fast. 'In the name of wonder,' cried he, 'how came you here?' 'No matter,' cried I, struggling. 'I know all. What have I ever done to you, you base, you cruel people?' 'Keep yourself cool, my little lady,' said he. 'I won't, I can't!' cried I. 'To use me so. You vile set; you horrid, horrid set!' 'Go for another meal-bag,' said he, to the servant. 'Now, madam, you shall keep company with the bagged poet.'