'Arriet (giggling). It's a pity they didn't ask you to write their Catalogue for 'em.
The Aunt. John, you're not really looking at that needlework—it's Queen Elizabeth's own work, John. Only look how wonderfully fine the stitches are. Ah, she was a truly great woman! I could spend hours over this case alone. What, closing are they, already? We must have another day at this together, John—just you and I.
John. Yes, Aunt. And now—(thinks there is just time to call on the Chestertons, if he goes soon)—can I get you a cab, or put you into a 'bus, or anything?
His Aunt. Not just yet; you must take me somewhere where I can get a bun and a cup of tea first, and then we can go over the Catalogue together, and mark all the things we missed, you know.
[John resigns himself to the inevitable rather than offend his wealthy relative; the Intelligent Person comes out, saying he has had "an intellectual treat," and intends to "run through Froude again" that evening. 'Arry and 'Arriet depart to the "Ocean Wave" at Hengler's. Gallery gradually clears as Scene closes in.
FOR THE SAKE OF THE EMPIRE.
The Empire of Melpomene and Terpsichore.
Since the Shah spent a pleasant evening in the Theatre of Varieties North of Leicester Square (and if it comes to that, long before) the Empire has been a notable place of entertainment. At the present moment there is an exceptionally strong programme. Two ballets, both extremely good. The first, "The Paris Exhibition," pleasingly recalls the glories and expenses of last year so inseparably connected with the Cairo street dancing and the Tour Eiffel. The second, "A Dream of Wealth," is interesting amongst other matters for proving conclusively that the Demon of Avarice (conscientiously impersonated by Signor Luigi Albertieri), is a singularly gentlemanly creature, and not nearly so black as he would conventionally be painted. The story of the divertissement by Madame Katti Lanner, if rather obscure, is still thoroughly enjoyable. It would seem that a miser with a comic but sound-hearted clerk, after an altercation with some well-fed representatives of "the most distrissful" tenantry that ever yet were seen, makes the acquaintance of "an apparition," and dreams that he is the tenant of his own jewel-casket. In his sleep he is present at a ballet replete with silver and gold and precious stones, to say nothing of shapely limbs and pretty faces, and makes great friends with the "apparition," who shows him much graceful courtesy, with the assistance of one of her acquaintances, that singularly gentlemanly creature, the Demon of Avarice. That all ends happily goes without saying.