GENTLEMAN. Here are the photographs (producing packet); here is one of them (about to show a portrait). No, I make a mistake; this is one of myself.
LADY (aghast). Yours?
GENTLEMAN (smiling). Yes! this is the one! (presenting a second portrait). You’ll observe a remarkable protuberance of this part of the skull (pointing to it); that’s the organ of destructiveness. I have it myself, only not quite so strongly developed! (touching his head); don’t you perceive it?
LADY. Yes—I—see! But I confess I cannot understand how you happen to be in possession of these remarkably interesting—works of art?
GENTLEMAN (smiling). A very simple matter—my occupation necessitates my associating with this particular class of “her Majesty’s subjects”—as I happen to be—
LADY (quickly). Hush! I know! You need not tell me!
GENTLEMAN (anxiously). What is the matter? You are positively trembling—with cold, no doubt! Allow me to wrap this rug round you.
LADY. No, no!
GENTLEMAN. Nay, I insist! (placing his rug round LADY’S feet).
LADY. But you will feel the want of it yourself, especially as it seems you have passed the night in the train!