“Gladly; 't will be a change from your usual discourse, which is of love--just the opposite, you know.” “Why will you not consent to come with me to Vauxhall once more?” “La, sir, think of the scandal? Have not we been seen there together half a dozen times?” “Scandal! Do you think that the scandal-mongers can add anything to what they have already said regarding us?” “I place no limits on the imagination of the scandal-monger, sir, but I desire to assign a limit to my own indiscretions, which, I fear, have set tongues wagging--” “Pooh! my dear madam, cannot you see that tongues will wag all the faster if I appear at the Gardens with some one else?” “Say, with your wife. Surely you are not afraid of the tongue of slander if you appear by the side of your wife, sir.” “'T is for you I fear.” “What! you fancy that people will slander me if you appear at Vauxhall with your lawful wedded wife?” “Even so, for they will say that you were not strong enough to keep me faithful to you.” Mrs. Abington sprang to her feet. “The wretches!” she cried. “I will show them that------psha! let them say their worst. What care I what they say? I'll go or stay away, as the fancy seizes.” “You may take your choice, my dear madam,” said Lewis: “Whether you would rather be slandered for coming with me or for staying at home!” “The terms are not the same in both cases,” said she; “for if I go with you I know that I shall have an excellent supper.” “So you 'll come! Ah, I knew that you would not forsake me!” he cried, catching her hand and kissing it. “You foolish man! You take credit to yourself for a decision that is due to the prospect of a supper!” said Mrs. Abington. “Ah, I know what I know, my dear,” cried he. “And so I will take my leave at once, lest you should change your mind.” “I protest, sir,” said she, as he kissed her hand again. “I protest that 't was the thought of the supper decided me.” He roared with laughter. So did she when he had left her house. “What fools these men are!” she cried, throwing herself back on her couch with a very capacious yawn. “What fools! The idea of a poor woman being influenced by the thought of minced chicken in a decision that involves being by their side seems preposterous to them! Oh, if they but knew all that such a woman as I am could tell them!” She laughed softly--subtly--as certain recollections came to her, for Mrs. Abington was a lady of many recollections. After a space, she resumed her study of the part of Miss Hardcastle, for which she had been cast by Colman in Dr. Goldsmith's new comedy, but which, the following week, to her everlasting regret, she relinquished in favor of Mrs. Bulkley.