Susan [seats herself at the piano]. My dear husband, it weel do very well. He only said we must note "thomp, thomp" until he had seen it; dat is all. Now, gentlemens, what would you like?
Sponge [with an armful of music-books]. Nay, madam, what will you do us the favor to choose? [Aside] There is nothing I love so much in this world as turning over the leaves of a music-book for a lady of birth!
Susan. Ah, I am so sorry, because I do only play by de ear, here [points to her ear]. But what would you like, gentlemens? Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, it is all exactly de same to me.
Robinson. Oh, then, pray let us have Mendelssohn,—one of those exquisite Songs without Words of his.
Susan. Yas? with plaisir. I like dose songs best myself,—de songs without words.
Nokes [aside, despairingly]. It's impossible she can get out of this. Now we shall have an éclaircissement, an exposure, an explosion.
Susan [strikes piano violently with both hands, and a string breaks with a loud report]. Ah, quel dommage! How stupide, too, when he told me not to "thomp, thomp"! I am so sorry, gentlemens! I did hope to give you a song, but I cannot sing without an accompaniment.
Rasper [maliciously]. There's the harp, ma'am,—unless its strings are in the same unsatisfactory state as those of the piano.
Susan [with affected delight]. What, you play de harp, Mr. Gasper? I am so glad, because I do not play it yet myself: I am only learning. Come, I shall sing, and you shall play upon de harp.
Rasper [angrily]. I play the harp, madam! what rubbish! of course I can't.