Mr Linley was furious, and threatened the terrors of the law; but the bridegroom that failed was adamant.  It was said that, in cancelling the engagement, Mr Long was acting a chivalrous part, in response to Miss Linley’s pleading that he would withdraw his suit, since her heart could never be his, and by withdrawing shield her from her father’s anger.  However this may have been, Mr Long steadily declined to go to the altar, and ultimately appeased the singing-master by settling L3,000 on his daughter, and allowing her to keep the valuable jewels and other presents he had given her.

It was at this crisis in the Nightingale’s life, when all Bath was ringing with the fiasco of her engagement, and she herself was overcome by humiliation, that another and more dangerous lover made his appearance at Bath—­a youth (for such he was) whose life was destined to be dramatically linked with hers.  This newcomer into the arena of love was none other than Richard Brinsley Sheridan, grandson of Dean Swift’s bosom friend, Dr Thomas Sheridan, one of the two sons of another Thomas, who, after a roaming and profitless life, had come to Bath to earn a livelihood by teaching elocution.

This younger Thomas Sheridan seems to have inherited none of the wit and cleverness of his father, Swift’s boon companion.  Dr Johnson considered him “dull, naturally dull.  Such an excess of stupidity,” he added, “is not in nature.”  But, in spite of his dulness, “Sherry”—­as he was commonly called—­had been clever enough to coax a pension of L200 a year out of the Government, and was able to send his two boys to Harrow and Oxford.

The Sheridan boys had been but a few days in Bath when they both fell head over heels in love with Elizabeth Linley, with whom their sister had been equally quick to strike up a friendship.  But from the first, Charles, the elder son, was hopelessly outmatched.

“On our first acquaintance,” Miss Linley wrote in later years, “both professed to love me—­but yet I preferred the youngest, as by far the most agreeable in person, beloved by every one.”

Indeed, from a boy, Richard Sheridan seemed born to win hearts.  His sister has confessed: 

“I admired—­I almost adored him.  He was handsome.  His cheeks had the glow of health; his eyes—­the finest in the world—­the brilliancy of genius, and were soft as a tender and affectionate heart could render them.  The same playful fancy, the same sterling and innoxious wit that was shown afterwards in his writings, cheered and delighted the family circle.”

Such was Richard Brinsley Sheridan, when, in the year 1769, he first set eyes on the girl, who, after many dramatic vicissitudes, was to bear his name and share his glories.  From the first sight of her he was hopelessly in love, although none but his sister knew it.  He was little more than a school-boy, and was content to “bide his time,” worshipping mutely at the shrine of the girl whom some day he meant to make his own.