Ernest Maltravers (aside). In the contemplation of your idiocy, I curb with difficulty the impulse that leads me to crush the life from your bosom. Know, Ignorant One, that a scenario is not the same thing as an auditorium.
[Tom Jones is about to attack him with fine old English violence, when the curtain suddenly falls. The entertainment is interrupted. The audience appear at once amused and shocked. Dorian takes out his little vinaigrette exquisitely set with turquoises, cymophanes, amethysts, and tourmalines, and offers it to the Subaltern, who, evidently unaware of its use, pockets it.
Subaltern. You got that out of a cracker, didn't you? I'll take it Home. For the kids.
[The entr'acte is growing so prolonged that the Secretary goes behind the scenes to know the cause of the delay. He finds all confusion. The party has been increased by the presence of Mr. Stead's Spook Julia, who, having half an hour to spare, has come to protest against the "indignity" as she calls it, of fine old crusted Ghosts being expected to perform to a lot of mere modern myths. She speaks with such eloquence that she persuades them, one and all, to leave without finishing their performance and entirely without ceremony. Nothing the Secretary can say has any effect, and they all vanish, leaving "not a wrack behind," except, a slate pencil Julia has dropped in her excitement.
Sir Lyon (after hearing the news). Shameful! Never again will I have a Ghost in this house. This is what comes of treating them as equals! I'll—I'll—I'll write to the Psychical Society!
[Scene closes as all the guests crowd round him and ask him to drink the health of Modern Fiction and—The New Year.
MAY AND DECEMBER.
[Brighton is now represented by two of the youngest members in the House.... Mr. Gladstone intends to spend Christmas at Brighton.]