Mr. B. (to himself). She's given me another chance! If only I can rise to it. Let me see—what shall I begin with? I know—Supper! She hasn't been down yet.
His Hostess. Oh, Mr. Boldover, you're not dancing this—do be good and take some one down to supper—those poor Chaperons are dying for some food.
[Mr. B. takes down a Matron whose repast is protracted through three waltzes and a set of Lancers—he comes up to find Miss Roundarm gone, and the Musicians putting up their instruments.
Coachman at Door (to Linkman, as Mr. B. goes down the steps). That's the lot, Jim!
[Mr. B. walks home, wishing the Park Gates were not shut, so as to render the Serpentine inaccessible.
AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM.
IN THE SCULPTURE GALLERIES.
Sightseers discovered drifting languidly along in a state of depression, only tempered by the occasional exercise of the right of every free-born Briton to criticize whenever he fails to understand. The general tone is that of faintly amused and patronizing superiority.
A Burly Sightseer with a red face (inspecting group representing "Mithras Sacrificing a Bull"). H'm; that may be Mithras's notion of making a clean job of it, but it ain't mine!