returned Mr Curdle. `The unities of the drama, before everything.'
`Might I ask you,' said Nicholas, hesitating between the respect he ought to assume, and his love of the whimsical, `might I ask you what the unities are?'
Mr Curdle coughed and considered. `The unities, sir,' he said, `are a completeness--a kind of universal dovetailedness with regard to place and time--a sort of a general oneness, if I may be allowed to use so strong an expression. I take those to be the dramatic unities, so far as I have been enabled to bestow attention upon them, and I have read much upon the subject, and thought much. I find, running through the performances of this child,' said Mr Curdle, turning to the phenomenon, `a unity of feeling, a breadth, a light and shade, a warmth of colouring, a tone, a harmony, a glow, an artistical development of original conceptions, which I look for, in vain, among older performers--I don't know whether I make myself understood?'
`Perfectly,' replied Nicholas.
`Just so,' said Mr Curdle, pulling up his neckcloth. `That is my definition of the unities of the drama.'
Mrs Curdle had sat listening to this lucid explanation with great complacency.
It being finished, she inquired what Mr Curdle thought, about putting down their names.
`I don't know, my dear; upon my word I don't know,' said Mr Curdle.
`If we do, it must be distinctly understood that we do not pledge ourselves to the quality of the performances. Let it go forth to the world, that we do not give them the sanction of our names, but that we confer the distinction merely upon Miss Snevellicci. That being clearly stated, I take it to be, as it were, a duty, that we should extend our patronage to a degraded stage, even for the sake of the associations with which it is entwined. Have you got two-and-sixpence for half-a-crown, Miss Snevellicci?'
said Mr Curdle, turning over four of those pieces of money.
Miss Snevellicci felt in all the corners of the pink reticule, but there was nothing in any of them. Nicholas murmured a jest about his being an author, and thought it best not to go through the form of feeling in his own pockets at all.
`Let me see,' said Mr Curdle; `twice four's eight--four shillings apiece to the boxes, Miss Snevellicci, is exceedingly dear in the present state of the drama--three half-crowns is seven-and-six; we shall not differ about sixpence, I suppose? Sixpence will not part us, Miss Snevellicci?'
Poor Miss Snevellicci took the three half-crowns, with many smiles and bends, and Mrs Curdle, adding several supplementary directions relative to keeping the places for them, and dusting the seat, and sending two clean bills as soon as they came out, rang the bell, as a signal for breaking up the conference.
`Odd people those,' said Nicholas, when they got clear of the house.
`I assure you,' said Miss Snevellicci, taking his arm, `that I think myself very lucky they did not owe all the money instead of being sixpence short. Now, if you were to succeed, they would give people to understand that they had always patronised you; and if you were to fail, they would have been quite certain of that from the very beginning.'
At the next house they visited, they were in great glory; for, there, resided the six children who were so enraptured with the public actions of the phenomenon, and who, being called down from the nursery to be treated with a private view of that young lady, proceeded to poke their fingers into her eyes, and tread upon her toes, and show her many other little attentions peculiar to their time of life.
`I shall certainly persuade Mr Borum to take a private box,' said the lady of the house, after a most gracious reception. `I shall only take two of the children, and will make up the rest of the party, of gentlemen--your admirers, Miss Snevellicci. Augustus, you naughty boy, leave the little girl alone.'
This was addressed to a young gentleman who was pinching, the phenomenon behind, apparently with a view of ascertaining whether she was real.
`I am sure you must be very tired,' said the mamma, turning to Miss Snevellicci. `I cannot think of allowing you to go, without first taking a glass of wine. Fie, Charlotte, I am ashamed of you! Miss Lane, my dear, pray see to the children.'
Miss Lane was the governess, and this entreaty was rendered necessary by the abrupt behaviour of the youngest Miss Borum, who, having filched the phenomenon's little green parasol, was now carrying it bodily off, while the distracted infant looked helplessly on.
`I am sure, where you ever learnt to act as you do,' said good-natured Mrs Borum, turning again to Miss Snevellicci, `I cannot understand (Emma, don't stare so); laughing in one piece, and crying in the next, and so natural in all--oh, dear!'
`I am very happy to hear you express so favourable an opinion,' said Miss Snevellicci. `It's quite delightful to think you like it.'
`Like it!' cried Mrs Borum. `Who can help liking it? I would go to the play, twice a week if I could: I dote upon it--only you're too affecting sometimes. You do put me in such a state--into such fits of crying! Goodness gracious me, Miss Lane, how can you let them torment that poor child so!'