And all were rooted where they stood, with surprise and incipient mortification, except Quin, who slapped his knee, and took the trick at its value.
Peg Woffington slipped out of the green baize, and, coming round from the back of the late picture, stood in person before them; while they looked alternately at her and at the hole in the canvas.

She then came at each of them in turn, _more dramatico._ "A pretty face, and not like Woffington.

I owe you two, Kate Clive." "Who ever saw Peggy's real face?
Look at it now if you can without blushing, Mr.Quin." Quin, a good-humored fellow, took the wisest view of his predicament, and burst into a hearty laugh.
"For all this," said Mr.Snarl, peevishly, "I maintain, upon the unalterable principles of art--" At this they all burst into a roar, not sorry to shift the ridicule.

"Goths!" cried Snarl, fiercely.
"Good-morning, ladies and gentlemen," cried Mr.Snarl, _avec intention,_ "I have a criticism to write of last night's performance." The laugh died away to a quaver.

"I shall sit on your pictures one day, Mr.
Brush." "Don't sit on them with your head downward, or you'll addle them," said Mr.Brush, fiercely.