Here, verily, was an actress who could set the town wild by the beauty and exquisite taste of her costumes, and who was conscientious enough, nevertheless, to keep the millinery phase of her art modestly in the background. You, ladies, who depend for theatrical success upon the elegance of your gowns, and fondly believe that fairness of face and litheness of figure will atone for a thousand dramatic sins, take pattern by the industry of Oldfield. It will be a much better pattern than those over which you are accustomed to worry your pretty heads. The enterprising dressmakers who go to the play to get inspiration for new clothes may cease to worship you, but think of the other sort of inspiration which you will give to lovers of the drama! Then shall there be no more announcements to the effect that, "Miss Lighthead will act Lady Macbeth in ten Parisian gowns made by Worth," or that when she treats us to the death of Marguerite Gautier (the aforesaid Mdlle. Gautier dying, as everybody knows, in actual poverty) "Miss Lighthead will wear diamonds representing one hundred thousand dollars." There is not much to say about the domesticity of Nance and Arthur Maynwaring. How could there be? The lady kept house for her lord and master with grace and modesty (if it seems not paradoxical to mention modesty in this alliance), and it is safe to believe that more than one member of the Kit-Cat Club often tasted a bit of beef and pudding, and sipped a glass of port, at the table of the happy pair. Congreve, the particular friend and _protégé_ of the host, must have dined more than once with brilliant Nance, regaling his plump being with the joy of food and drink, and wondering, perhaps, how any one could prefer the hostess to his particular _chère-amie_, Anne Bracegirdle. And Oldfield, of what did she think as she gazed into the rounded face of Mr. Congreve, or listened to the merry wit of her devoted liege? Did the ghost of poor, dead Farquhar ever arise before her, the reminder of a day when love was younger and passion stronger? Let us ask no impertinent questions. What with acting, and supping, and an easy conscience, Mistress Oldfield gaily trod the primrose path of dalliance, and Cupid hovered near, albeit there was no law to chain him to the scene. But one day he took to his wings and flew away, after witnessing the untimely death (November 1712) of Mr. Maynwaring. The latter made his exit with the assistance of three physicians, and Nance was near to smooth the departure.[A] Then came the funeral, and after that Mrs. Mayn--Mrs. Oldfield dried her lovely eyes (did she not have enough weeping to do when she played in tragedy?), and began once more to think upon the joys of existence.