But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to the playhouse in order to consult with the lady who--through long practice--was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to give him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel. It was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon his confidence with Mrs. Abington. The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act only of “She Stoops to Conquer” had been reached, and as she did not appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers--one which had taken the town by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every lady of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and loose about the neck and shoulders. “Ha, my little hero,” cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then to Mrs. Abington. “Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last? Oh, lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all a-dying of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There was a rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.” “The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't, madam,” said Goldsmith. “Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,” said she. “Faith, sir, you gave him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the playhouse, I give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about you, Dr. Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them all. For instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it was the first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making an attempt upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional channel.” “If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that, Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,” said Goldsmith. “Though, for that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand before me in that dress--ay, or any other.” “Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of compliment--I sink under it, sir--thus,” and she made an exquisite courtesy. “Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses' heads are as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?” “I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am extremely anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most accomplished should be moved,” said Goldsmith. “You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a comedy as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than that of Miss Hardcastle.” “I have the design of one in my head, madam.”