beau, waited for him, and walked parallel with him on the other side of
the room, giving an absurdly exact imitation of his carriage and
deportment. To make this more striking, she pulled out of her pocket,
after a mock search, a huge paste ring, gazed on it with a ludicrous
affectation of simple wonder, stuck it, like Cibber's diamond, on her
little finger, and, pursing up her mouth, proceeded to whistle a quick
movement,

"Which, by some devilish cantrip sleight,"

played round the old beau's slow movement, without being at variance with
it. As for the character of this ladylike performance, it was clear,
brilliant, and loud as blacksmith.

The folk laughed; Vane was shocked. "She profanes herself by whistling,"
thought he. Mr. Cibber was confounded. He appeared to have no idea whence
came this sparkling adagio. He looked round, placed his hands to his
ears, and left off whistling. So did his musical accomplice.

"Gentlemen," said Cibber, with pathetic gravity, "the wind howls most
dismally this evening! I took it for a drunken shoemaker!"

At this there was a roar of laughter, except from Mr. Vane. Peg
Woffington laughed as merrily as the others, and showed a set of teeth
that were really dazzling; but all in one moment, without the
preliminaries an ordinary countenance requires, this laughing Venus
pulled a face gloomy beyond conception. Down came her black brows
straight as a line, and she cast a look of bitter reproach on all
present; resuming her study, as who should say, "Are ye not ashamed to
divert a poor girl from her epilogue?" And then she went on, "Mum! mum!