His head burned, his bones ached; but he was in a sort of nervous delight.
"Where is she ?" thought he.

"What will she do?
Will she send her maid with a note?
How blue he will look! Or will she come herself?
She is a country wife; there must be a scene.

Oh, why doesn't she come into this room?
She must know we are here! is she watching somewhere ?" His brain became puzzled, and his senses were sharpened to a point; he was all eye, ear and expectation; and this was why he was the only one to hear a very slight sound behind the door we have mentioned, and next to perceive a lady's glove lying close to that door.

Mabel had dropped it in her retreat.

Putting this and that together, he was led to hope and believe she was there, making her toilet, perhaps, and her arrival at present unknown.
"Do you expect no one else ?" said he, with feigned carelessness, to Mr.
Vane.
"No," said Mr.Vane, with real carelessness.
"It must be so! What fortune!" thought Pomander.
_Soaper._ "Mr.Cibber looks no older than he did five years ago." _Snarl._ "There was no room on his face for a fresh wrinkle." _Soaper._ "He! he! Nay, Mr.Snarl: Mr.Cibber is like old port; the more ancient he grows, the more delicious his perfume." _Snarl._ "And the crustier he gets." _Clive._ "Mr.Vane, you should always separate those two.