So she instantly gave him back his manuscript, with a sweet smile owned herself inferior in judgment to him, and left him unmolested.
Triplet breathed freely; a weight was taken off him.

The savage steel (he applied this title to the actress's scissors) had spared his _purpurei panni._ He was played, pure and intact, a calamity the rest of us grumbling escape.
But it did so happen that the audience were of the actress's mind, and found the words too exuberant, and the business of the play too scanty in proportion.

At last their patience was so sorely tried that they supplied one striking incident to a piece deficient in facts.

They gave the manager the usual broad hint, and in the middle of Triplet's third act a huge veil of green baize descended upon "The Jealous Spaniard." Failing here, Mrs.Woffington contrived often to befriend him in his other arts, and moreover she often sent Mr.Triplet what she called a snug investment, a loan of ten pounds, to be repaid at Doomsday, with interest and compound interest, according to the Scriptures; and, although she laughed, she secretly believed she was to get her ten pounds back, double and treble.

And I believe so too.
Some years later Mrs.Triplet became eventful.