WRITING THE QUEEN'S SPEECH.
Little Gwendolen (drawing Miss Seaton into a corner). Oh, Miss Seaton, what do you think? Mother's going to let you dine downstairs with them—won't that be nice for you? At least, she's going to, if somebody comes, and you're to go down with him. He isn't like a regular dinner-guest, you know. Papa hired him from Blankley's this morning, and Mother and he both hope he mayn't come, after all; but I hope he will, because I want to see what he's like. Don't you hope he'll come? Don't you, Miss Seaton, dear?
Miss Seaton (to herself). Then that was why! And I can't even refuse! (Aloud.) My dear Gwennie, you shouldn't tell me all these things—they're secrets, and I'm sure your Mother would be very angry indeed if she heard you mention them to anybody!
Gwen. Oh, it was only to you, Miss Seaton, and you're nobody, you know! And I can keep a secret, if I choose. I never told how Jane used to——[Miss Seaton endeavours to check these disclosures.
Uncle Gab. (out of temper, on the hearth-rug). Seven minutes past the hour, Monty—and, if there's a thing I'm particular about, it's not being kept waiting for my dinner. Are you expecting somebody else? or what is it?
Mr. Tid. (nervously). Well, I half thought—but we won't wait any longer for him—he is not worth it—ha! there he is—I think I heard the front door—so perhaps I may as well give him——eh?
Uncle Gab. Just as you like—my dinner's spoilt as it is. (Catching sight of the banner-screen.) What have you stuck this precious affair up for, eh?
Mr. Tid. To—to keep the fire off. Maria's idea. Uncle—she thought our—hem—crest and motto would look rather well made up like this.
Uncle Gab. (with a snort). Made up! I should think it was! Though what you want to make yourself out one of those good-for-nothing aristocrats for is beyond me. You know my sentiments about 'em—I'm a thorough-going Radical, and the very sound of a title——
Seakale (with a fine combination of awe and incredulity). Lord Strathsporran!