[Faust melts into air from "Pinafore."
His Wife. Do you mean to say you don't remember that, Robert? how exquisite Patti was in the part, to be sure!
Robert. Umph!
["Pinafore" becomes "La ci darem"—which transforms itself without warning into "Two Lovely Black Eyes."
The Lady. There's nobody like Gounod! [Clasps her hands.
Robert (captiously). Gounod's all very well, I daresay, my dear; but it don't seem to me he's altogether original. I've heard something very like this tune before, and I'll swear it wasn't by him!
The Lady. That's very likely; all the best airs get stolen nowadays, and dressed up so as to be quite unrecognisable; but that's not Gounod's fault, is it?
[Fans herself triumphantly, after vindicating her favourite Composer. Robert slumbers.
Behind the Platform.
Erratic Promenader. Beg your pardon, Sir—tha' shtick, not 'tended meet your eye, Sir—'nother gerrilm'n's eye, Sir.