FIRST ANNIVERSARY—say, in 1893.
SCENE—A charming drawing-room. TIME—About 9:30 P.M.
Mr. RIVENLUTE is on a chair by the open window; Mrs. RIVENLUTE on a low stool by his side.
Mrs. R. (for the fiftieth time). I can't ever thank you nearly enough for this lovely ring, JACK dear!
Jack (rather gruffly). Oh, it's all right, Pussy. Glad you like it, I'm sure. Do they mean to bring in the lamps? It's pitch dark.
Mrs. R. I'll ring presently—not just yet. It was so dear of you to remember what day it was!
Jack (who only just remembered it in time, as he was driving home). Been a brute if I hadn't!
Mrs. R. You couldn't be a brute, JACK, if you tried—not to me. I'm so glad we haven't got to go out anywhere to-night, aren't you?
Jack (heartily). Rather! Beastly bore turning out after dinner. What on earth are you up to over there?
Mrs. R. (who has risen, and has apparently been winding up some instrument in the corner—as she returns). Oh, it's only something I wanted to do this evening.... Now, JACK, listen!
[The phonograph begins to click and whirr.
Jack. That beastly cat in the room again! Turn it out quick—it's going to be ill.
Mrs. R. (laughing a little hysterically). No—no, JACK, it isn't poor Snowball this time! Wait, and you will hear something.
[The "Voice that Breathed o'er Eden" is suddenly rendered by an organ and full choir: the remarks of two choristers (who are having a little difference over a hymn-book), and the subdued sniffs of MRS. MANDOLINE, being distinctly audible between the verses.
Mrs. R. (breaking down). Oh, JACK, isn't it beautiful? Wasn't it sweet of Uncle JOHN to give it to us!
Jack (who, privately, would have infinitely preferred a small cheque). Yes—he's a good old buffer at bottom.
Mrs. R. He's a perfect old love! Tell me, JACK, you're not sorry you married me, are you?
Jack. What a thing to ask a fellow Of course I'm not!
Mrs. R. (softly). Do you know, JACK, I'm sometimes sorry I married you, though.
Jack (uneasily). Come, I say, you know—what on earth for?
Mrs. R. Because I should like to marry you all over again!... Ah, I knew I should frighten you! (The final "Amen" of the Choir dies away, amid the coughing, rustling, and nasal trumpeting of last year's Congregation.) There are some more cylinders, JACK—shall we put them in next?
Jack (who feels sufficiently solemnised). Well, if you ask me, I think they'll keep till next year. Pity to disturb the effect of that last, eh?