Mrs. M. G. Ah, you mean certain critics are so thin-skinned—they are: indeed!
Mr. T. (warming to his subject). But the beauty of this particular composition is that it causes absolutely no unpleasantness or inconvenience afterwards. In some cases, indeed, it acts like a charm. I've known of two cases of long-standing erysipelas it has completely cured.
Mrs. M. G. (rather at sea). How gratifying that must be. But that is the magic of all truly great work, it is such an anodyne—it takes people so completely out of themselves—doesn't it?
Mr. T. It takes anything of that sort out of them, Ma'am. It's the finest discovery of the age, no household will be without it in a few months—though perhaps I say it who shouldn't.
Mrs. M. G. (still more astonished). Oh, but I like to hear you. I'm so tired of hearing people pretending to disparage what they have done, it's such a pose, and I hate posing. Real genius is never modest. (If he had been more retiring, she would have, of course, reversed this axiom.) I wish you would come and see me on one of my Tuesdays, Mr. Tablett, I should feel so honoured, and I think you would meet some congenial spirits—do look in some evening—I will send you a card if I may—let me see—could you come and lunch next Sunday? I've got a little man coming who was very nearly eaten up by cannibals. I think he would interest you.
Mr. T. I shall be proud to meet him. Er—did they eat much of him?
Mrs. M. G. (who privately thinks this rather vulgar). How witty you are! That's quite worthy of—er—Sabrina, really! Then you will come? So glad. And now I mustn't keep you from your other admirers any longer.
[She dismisses him.
LATER.
Mrs. M. G. (to her Brother-in-law). How could you say that dear Mr. Tablett was dull, Phil? I found him perfectly charming—so original and unconventional! He's promised to come to me. By the way, what did you say the name of his book was?