“Dr. Goldsmith,” she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility, “I hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray of you not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at having resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I might have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.” “Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?” said he. “Nay, I have a part in my mind for you already--that is, if you will be good enough to accept it.” “Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!” cried the actress, offering him both her hands. “I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr. Goldsmith.” [Illustration: 0173] And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company and the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter had filled the theatre. “We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr. Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,” said he. “You dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent, indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast. On the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding modesty good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make you a coxcomb.” “Oh, I hope not, sir,” said Goldsmith. “No, you don't hope it, sir,” cried Johnson. “You are thinking at this moment how much better you are than your betters--I see it on your face, you rascal.” “And he has a right to think so,” said Mrs. Bunbury. “Come, Dr. Goldsmith, speak up, say something insulting to your betters.” “Certainly, madam,” said Goldsmith. “Where are they?” “Well said!” cried Edmund Burke. “Nay, sir,” said Johnson. “Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough. We expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.” His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake on the walls. Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand. She knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she was not mistaken. For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit and gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in the green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived the moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly imagined was an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the points in his comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian into Reynolds's ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the background with the Bunburys.