In the Grand Circle.
A Young Gentleman (who has set himself to form his fiancée's mind, but finds it necessary to proceed very gradually). Now, Caroline, tell me—isn't this better than if we had gone to the Circus?
Caroline (from the provinces; unmusical; simple in her tastes). Yes, Joseph, only—(timidly)—there's more of what I call variety in a Circus—more going on, I mean.
The Y. G. (with a sense of discouragement). I quite see your meaning, dear, and it's an entirely true observation; still, you do appreciate this magnificent orchestra, don't you now?
Caroline. I should have liked it better with different coloured curtains—maize is so trying.
The Y. G. (mentally). I won't write home to them about it just yet.
Orchestra begins a "Musical Medley" with Overture to "Tannhäuser."
The Y. G. (who has lost his programme). Now, Caroline—this is Wagner—you'll like Wagner, darling, I'm sure.
Caroline (startled). Shall I? Where is he? Will he come in here? Must I speak to him?
The Y. G. No, no—he's dead—I mean, this is from his Opera—you must listen to this.
[He watches her face for the emotion he expects; "Tannhäuser" melts suddenly into "Tommy, Make Room for your Uncle."
Caroline (her face absolutely transfigured). Oh, Joseph, dear—Wagner's perfectly lovely!
The Y. G. (gloomily). I see, I shall have to put you through a course of Bach, Caroline!
Caroline (alarmed). But there's nothing whatever the matter with me, Joseph! I'm not flushed am I?
[Young Gentleman suppresses a groan.
In a Box.
(Musical Medley still in progress.)
A Lady (not much of an Opera-goer, who has been given a box at the last moment, and has insisted on her husband turning out to escort her). It was silly of you to drop that programme, Robert—I should like to know what this piece is, it seems quite familiar—(Orchestra playing "Soldiers' March" from Faust)—I know—it's Faust, Robert, Gounod's Faust!
[Much pleased with herself for recollecting an Opera she has only heard once.
Robert (sleepily). I know, my dear, all right.
[Faust melts into air from "Pinafore."
His Wife. Do you mean to say you don't remember that, Robert? how exquisite Patti was in the part, to be sure!
Robert. Umph!
["Pinafore" becomes "La ci darem"—which transforms itself without warning into "Two Lovely Black Eyes."
The Lady. There's nobody like Gounod! [Clasps her hands.
Robert (captiously). Gounod's all very well, I daresay, my dear; but it don't seem to me he's altogether original. I've heard something very like this tune before, and I'll swear it wasn't by him!
The Lady. That's very likely; all the best airs get stolen nowadays, and dressed up so as to be quite unrecognisable; but that's not Gounod's fault, is it?
[Fans herself triumphantly, after vindicating her favourite Composer. Robert slumbers.