The pause that followed was broken by the self-satisfied chuckle of the landlord. He seemed to take credit to himself for Kitty's sally. He looked at the stranger, then at the lady; his face puckered with a smile. Then he walked to the door, and gave another chuckle as he glanced round with his hand on the door. “Mistress Kitty has taken the measure of my fine gentleman,” he muttered, with a shrewd wink; “there's no need for me here.” His chuckle broadened into a guffaw as he went down the passage, having closed the door. “Pray, madam, be not offended,” the man who was facing Kitty managed to say, after an interval. “If I called you sensible, I most humbly apologise. No offence was meant, madam.” “I believe that, sir; but no woman likes to be called sensible. You may call one a silly piece, a romp, or a heartless coquette without offence; but never a sensible woman.” “I forgot myself for the moment, madam, owing to the treatment I received at the hands of that bumpkin Boniface. I am, in what is doubtless your condition--awaiting the coach, and I objected to be relegated to the kitchen.” “Faith, sir,” said Kitty, with a laugh, as she returned to the settle, “I have passed some pleasant enough hours in a kitchen.” “And so have I, madam, when the wenches were well favoured,” said the man, assuming the sly look of a man who had seen life. [Men who fancied they knew the world were as plentiful in the last century as they are in the present.] “Yes, madam; but then I went into the kitchen by choice, not on compulsion.” “Maybe you left on compulsion; kitchen wenches have strong arms, sir,” remarked Kitty. “Nay, nay, madam, Jack Bates--my name, madam--has always been a favourite with the wenches.” “The kitchen wenches?” “Zounds, madam, a wench is a wench, whether in the kitchen or the parlour, Oh, I know woman thoroughly: I have studied her. Woman is a delightful branch of education.” “Oh, sir!” cried Kitty, sinking in a curtesy with the look of mock demureness with which she was accustomed to fascinate her audiences at Drury Lane. Mr. Bates was fascinated by that look. He smiled good-naturedly, waving his hat as if to deprecate the suggestion that he meant to be a gay dog. “Nay, be not fluttered, fair one,” he cried with a smirk. “I protest that I am a gentleman.” “Oh, I breathe again,” said Kitty, rising to the surface, so to speak, after her curtesy, “A gentleman? I should never have guessed it. I fancied I heard you assert that you were an actor--just the opposite, you know.” “So I am, madam. I am an actor,” said Mr. Bates. Sharp though Kitty's sarcasm was, it glanced off him. Kitty assumed a puzzled look. Then she pretended that his meaning had dawned on her. “Oh, I see; you mean, sir, that you are the actor of the part of a gentleman. Faith, sir, the part might have been better cast.” “I hope that I am a gentleman first, and an actor afterwards, madam,” said Mr. Bates, with some measure of dignity.