When the performances were concluded, our friends took coach for Mr. Warrington’s lodging, where the Virginians had provided an elegant supper. Mr. Warrington was eager to treat them in the handsomest manner, and the General and his wife accepted the invitation of the two bachelors, pleased to think that they could give their young friends pleasure. General and Mrs. Lambert, their son from college, their two blooming daughters, and Mr. Spencer of the Temple, a new friend whom George had met at the coffee-house, formed the party, and partook with cheerfulness of the landlady’s fare. The order of their sitting I have not been able exactly to ascertain; but, somehow, Miss Theo had a place next to the chickens and Mr. George Warrington, whilst Miss Hetty and a ham divided the attentions of Mr. Harry. Mrs. Lambert must have been on George’s right hand, so that we have but to settle the three places of the General, his son, and the Templar.

Mr. Spencer had been at the other theatre, where, on a former day, he had actually introduced George to the greenroom. The conversation about the play was resumed, and some of the party persisted in being delighted with it.

“As for what our gentlemen say, sir,” cries Mrs. Lambert to Mr. Spencer, “you must not believe a word of it. ’Tis a delightful piece, and my husband and Mr. George behaved as ill as possible.”

“We laughed in the wrong place, and when we ought to have cried,” the General owned, “that’s the truth.”

“You caused all the people in the boxes about us to look round and cry ‘Hush!’ You made the pit folks say, ‘Silence in the boxes, yonder!’ Such behaviour I never knew, and quite blushed for you, Mr. Lambert!”

“Mamma thought it was a tragedy, and we thought it was a piece of fun,” says the General. “George and I behaved perfectly well, didn’t we, Theo?”

“Not when I was looking your way, papa!” Theo replies. At which the General asks, “Was there ever such a saucy baggage seen?”

“You know, sir, I didn’t speak till I was bid,” Theo continues, modestly. “I own I was very much moved by the play, and the beauty and acting of Mrs. Woffington. I was sorry that the poor mother should find her child, and lose him. I am sorry, too, papa, if I oughtn’t to have been sorry!” adds the young lady, with a smile.

“Women are not so clever as men, you know, Theo,” cries Hetty from her end of the table, with a sly look at Harry. “The next time we go to the play, please, brother Jack, pinch us when we ought to cry, or give us a nudge when it is right to laugh.”

“I wish we could have had the fight,” said General Lambert, “the fight between little Norval and the gigantic Norwegian — that would have been rare sport: and you should write, Jack, and suggest it to Mr. Rich, the manager.”

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