At Supper.
C. I must say I 'ardly expected this—after the leminade. But you're eatin' nothin', young Pianner. (To Servant.) Thank 'ee, my pretty dear, you may leave that raised pie where it is; and do you think you could get us another bottle o' Sham, now—for my young friend here? (To Pianist. You needn't think you've made a conquest with that moony mug of yours. She's only lookin' after you to make me jealous, d'ye see? I know these minxes' ways, bless you.)
P. (with lofty bitterness). I've no wish to dispute it with you.
C. Ah, you've had your eye on the governess all the evening. I saw you!
P. (blushing). You're talking folly, Cornet, and what's more, you know it.
C. That's her playin' upstairs now. I know a governess's polker—all tum-tum and no jump to it. Wouldn't you like to go up and help her, eh?
P. If I am a wretch doomed to misery, it's not for you to remind me of it, Cornet. It's not a friendly act, I'm blowed if it is!
C. You're a regular Tant—Tarantulus, you know, that's what you are! You'll be goin' mad on your music-stool—"I saw her dancin' in the 'All"—that sort o' thing, hey?
P. (with dignity.) It seems to me you've had quite enough of that Champagne, and we've been down half-an-hour.
C. You don't 'pear to unnerstand that a Cornet's very mush thirstier instrumen' than a iron-grand out o' tune—but you're a good young feller—I li' a shentimental young chap. I'm a soft-'arted ole fool myshelf!