I wait a quarter of an hour.
It's too bad. I'll take these stupid things off.
Enter Boodels. “Hallo!” he cries. “What on earth are you got up like this for?”
I say, testily, “I don't know.”
Boodels continues. “Miss Cherton's maid 's been complaining, and says you've been playing tricks on her. Come! Do take off those things.”
Do! I don't want pressing. I have been for an hour and a half dressed up here, with my face painted like a Red Indian, and as cold as ice.
Layder enters. “Oh, my dear fellow, a thousand pardons. I quite forgot you were here; and we suddenly—I mean the ladies, suddenly altered the programme and wanted me to sing and do some nonsense, so I could not refuse.”
Happy Thought.—(I'll vote against his invitation being renewed after this week). Say nothing.
I find that Jenkyns Soames, induced to put on a sort of Conjuror's dress, has been waiting to deliver his lecture the same time that I have; he is equally cold, but not cross, as he anticipates being a means of instruction to the party.
