"Men are such villains!"

"Very likely," was the reply; "but twenty men don't ill-use one good
woman; those are not the proportions. Adieu!"

This last hit frightened Mr. Vane, he began to look into himself; he
could not but feel that he was a mere child in this woman's hands; and,
more than that, his conscience told him that if his heart should be made
a football of it would be only a just and probable punishment. For there
were particular reasons why he, of all men, had no business to look twice
at any woman whose name was Woffington.

That night he avoided the green-room, though he could not forego the
play; but the next night he determined to stay at home altogether.
Accordingly, at five o'clock, the astounded box-keeper wore a visage of
dismay--there was no shilling for him! and Mr. Vane's nightly shilling
had assumed the sanctity of salary in his mind.

Mr. Vane strolled disconsolate; he strolled by the Thames, he strolled up
and down the Strand; and, finally, having often admired the wisdom of
moths in their gradual approach to what is not good for them, he strolled
into the green-room, Covent Garden, and sat down. When there he did not
feel happy. Besides, she had always been cold to him, and had given no
sign of desiring his acquaintance, still less of recognition.

Mr. Vane had often seen a weathercock at work, and he had heard a woman
compared to it; but he had never realized the simplicity, beauty and
justice of the simile. He was therefore surprised, as well as thrilled,
when Mrs. Woffington, so cool, ceremonious and distant hitherto, walked
up to him in the green-room with a face quite wreathed in smiles, and,