DEARTH. No, but I presumed it must be your fascination, Alice.
ALICE. Just so. Well, I want you to come out with us to-night to watch him.
DEARTH. Crack-in-my-eye-Tommy, spy on my host! And such a harmless little chap, too. Excuse me, Alice. Besides I have an engagement.
ALICE. An engagement—with the port decanter, I presume.
DEARTH. A good guess, but wrong. The decanter is now but an empty shell. Still, how you know me! My engagement is with a quiet cigar in the garden.
ALICE. Your hand is so unsteady, you won't be able to light the match.
DEARTH. I shall just manage. (He triumphantly proves the exact truth of his statement.)
ALICE. A nice hand for an artist!
DEARTH. One would scarcely call me an artist now-a-days.
ALICE. Not so far as any work is concerned.