The recent illuminations in Paris, it is said, were a very costly matter. Naturally, as an "affaire de LUX(E)."
UNDER THE ROSE.
(A Story in Scenes.)
Scene XI.—At the entrance to The Eldorado Music-hall. Time—Saturday evening, about 8.30. Mrs. Toovey, who has just alighted from a Waterloo bus, approaches; she wears a veil, under which her spectacles gleam balefully, and passes the various boards and coloured posters with averted eyes.
Mrs. Toovey (to herself). I'm late—I ought to have taken a cab, instead of that dawdling bus. Still, I shall be in plenty of time to surprise Pa in the very midst of his profligacy. (She looks around her.) Gilding, rosewood and mahogany panels, plush, stained glass—oh, the wicked luxury of it all! (She pushes open a swing door.) Where is the place you call Box C? I—I have to meet somebody there.
[She finds herself in a glittering bar, where she produces a distinct sensation among a few loungers there.
A Barmaid (tartly). There's no entrance to the music-hall this way. You've come to the wrong place.