Mr. G. (pettishly). Bother Miss H.! Local Option's her fad, and I'm friendly, of course, to it, only, my dear, The mere limitation of numbers—her idol and Parliament's also for twenty years past— Is all tommy-rot as a remedy!
Miss Joe. Really, my dear Mr. G., you are getting on fast. Don't mean to say you mean "chucking" Miss H. and the rest of the Vetoers, Wilfrid and all? What will he say? He'll be giving you beans; and that blessed Alliance will raise a big squall.
Mr. G. "Charge, Chester, charge!" is my Marmion-motto. Lawson and Dawson may kick up a row, But I back you and the Gothenburg system, Miss Joe, and of course I can own to it—now!
Miss Joe. Well, I feel flattered! But oh, poor Miss H.
Mr. G. Entre nous, my dear Joe, Local Option, per se, Is just an Imposture!!!
Miss H. (who has entered unperceived). Oh, is it? My favourite measure, too! Oh, Mister G.! Mister G.! Call you this backing your friends? And to her too, that minx who was false to you when I was true! Really it's not safe to leave you a moment! You naughty old mischief you—come along, do!
A LITTLE FLIRTATION.
Mr. G. "Yes, Miss, I entirely agree with you. 'Local Option' is—is—um—more or less of an Imposture."
Miss Harcourt (horrified, appearing in the doorway). "Oh! Mr. G.! Mr. G.!!"