“You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,” said the Captain. “Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole. But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty and the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.” “Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,” said Burke. CHAPTER VI. The party found, on approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being under the guidance of Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have had considerable difficulty getting near the porch of the building, where the crowds were most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed his way quite good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the people, and was followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little way behind. But as soon as the latter couple came within the light of the hundred lamps which hung around the porch, they were recognised and cheered by the crowd, who made a passage for them to the entrance just as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was set down. The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed in front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a line on each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped out--she could not be persuaded to do so for some time--and walked between the ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered the points of their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy than they would have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at that period were doing their best to obtain some recognition. Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the “business” of the part which she had to play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding herself confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick standing at one side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he bowed with exquisite irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit was too much for her. Forgetting that she was playing the part of a _grande dame_, she turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her hands--one holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan--crying-- “La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's the prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?” “Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,” said Garrick gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the porch. The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the side of the lady. “Madam,” he cried, “honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon. What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady visitor?” he shouted to the liveried porter. “Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,” replied the man.