'
'It must have been Kitty Marchurst,' said Villiers, not attending to
the latter portion of Mr Wopples' remarks.
'Ah, indeed,' said Mr Wopples, lightly, 'how beautiful is the name
of Kitty; it suggests poetry immediately--for instance:
Kitty, ah Kitty, You are so pretty, Charming and witty, That 'twere
a pity I sung not this ditty In praise of my Kitty.
On the spur of the moment, sir, I assure you; does it not remind you
of Herrick?'
Mr Villiers bluntly said it did not.
'Ah! perhaps it's more like Shakespeare?' observed the actor, quite
unabashed. 'You think so?'
Mr Villiers was doubtful, and displayed such anxiety to get away
that Mr Wopples held out his hand to say goodbye.
'You'll excuse me, I know,' said Mr Wopples, in an apologetic tone,
'but the show commences at eight, and it is now half-past six. I
trust I shall see you tonight.'
'It's very kind of you to give me this ticket,' said Villiers, in
whom the gentlemanly instinct still survived.
'Not at all; not at all,' retorted Mr Wopples, with a wink.
'Business, my boy, business. Always have a good house first night,
so must go into the highways and byways for an audience. Ha!
Biblical illustration, you see;' and with a gracious wave of his
hand he skipped lightly down the path and disappeared from sight.
It was now getting dark; so Mr Villiers went on his own way, and
having selected a mining shaft where he could hide the nugget, he
climbed up to the top of the hill, and lying down under the shadow
of a rock where he could get a good view of Marchurst's house, he
waited patiently till such time as his wife would start for home.
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