AFTER THE THIRD SYLLABLE.
Mr. Pushington. Muddled? Of course it was muddled—you all called me a liar before I opened my mouth!
The Rest. But you didn't seem to know how to begin, and we had to bring the Word in somehow.
Pushington. Bring it in?—but you needn't have let it out. There was Settee there, shouting "liar" till he was black in the face. We must have looked a set of idiots from the front. I sha'n't go in again (muttering). It's no use acting Charades with people who don't understand it. There; settle the Word yourselves!
AFTER THE WORD. AMONG THE AUDIENCE.
General Murmur. What can it be? Not Turk, I suppose, or Magician?—Quarrelling?—Parnellite—Impertinence? Shall we give it up? No, they like us to guess, poor things; and besides, if we don't they'll do another; and it is getting so late, and such a long drive home. Oh, they're all coming back; then it is over. No, indeed, we can't imagine. "Familiar!" To be sure—how clever, and how well you all acted it, to be sure—you must be quite tired after it all. I am sure we—hem—are deeply indebted to you.... My dear Miss Rose, how wonderfully you disguised yourself, I never recognized you a bit, nor you, Mr. Nightingale. What part did you take?
Mr. Nightingale. I—er—didn't take any particular part—wasn't wanted, you know.
Miss Rose. Not to act,—so we stayed outside and—and—arranged things.
An Old Lady. Indeed? Then you had all the hard work, and none of the pleasure, my dear, I'm afraid.
Miss Rose (sweetly). Oh no. I mean yes!—but we didn't mind it much.