SCENE II.--_Drawing-room. Windows opening on to Terrace. Ladies
alone._
_Muriel_ (_to_ VIOLA). CLAUDE MIGNON has been saying that I am the
only woman he has ever loved!
_Viola._ Exactly what he says to me!
_Muriel._ Is it a boast--or a confession?
_Viola_ (_quietly_). It is a lie, that's all. But what did ALAN ROY
say? He didn't speak to me.
_Muriel._ He says you have a far-away look in your eyes.
_Viola_ (_eagerly_). Yes? I did my best!
_Muriel_ (_simply_). So I told him you wanted to have a secret in your
life--a romance. He seemed very much interested.
_Viola._ Oh, MURIEL! How could you? _How_ silly of you! I am very
angry indeed.
_Muriel_ (_calmly_). Why, VIOLA? ALBERT is getting accustomed to his
being grown-up, and CLAUDE to his being so young. They all like him
immensely. But I think they will be glad when he goes away.
[_Enter gentlemen._
_Claude_ (_talking to_ ALAN). Yes, I felt I had something to say--and
I said it--in one volume.
_Alan._ There is no mistake so fatal as to write because one has
something to say.
_Claude._ How about _Robinson Crusoe_, _Don Quixote_----
_Alan._ I am afraid I never read them. I couldn't read till I was
ten--and then I read dear HERBERT SPENCER.
[_He tries to join_ VIOLA _and passes_ Mrs. AVERIDGE, _who
moves to leave room for him on the sofa, and smiles_.
_Alan_ (_standing by the sofa_). Weren't the flowers quite sweet on
the table to-night, Mrs. AVERIDGE?
_Mrs. Averidge_ (_trying to be original_). I can't bear flowers.
_Alan._ What _do_ you like, Mrs. AVERIDGE?
_Mrs. Averidge_ (_looking out of the window_). Oh--trees, I think.
_Alan._ What! on the table! (_He escapes, and joins_ VIOLA.) Is that
the moon outside, Mrs. TRAVERS?
_Viola_ (_gazing at it intensely_). I think it is.
_Alan._ Shall we go and see?
[_They move out on to the terrace._
_Muriel_ (_sitting next to_ Mrs. AVERIDGE). Isn't ALAN ROY a little
dear?
_Mrs. Averidge_ (_spitefully_). So your sister seems to think. I had
no idea she was so fond of children.
_Muriel._ He has such pretty ways! That new shade of blue is very
fashionable, Mrs. AVERIDGE. But it's a little _trying_ to you, do you
know? You don't mind my saying so, do you? [_Amenities continue._
_Mr. Averidge._ It's perfectly amazing! That boy knows everything. He
talks politics----
_Claude._ He's a staunch Tory!
_Mr. Averidge._ Literature----
_Claude._ He tells me he's not a Romanticist; he cares only for the
Classics.
_Mr. Averidge._ Art----
_Claude_ (_resigned_). He dismisses Symbolism with a word, smiles at
Impressionism as old-fashioned, but speaks most kindly both of MILLAIS
and WHISTLER. He calls them "poor dears." I _think_ that was the
phrase. I won't be sure, but I think so.
_Mr. Averidge._ Yes, he's astounding.
[_Ponders._
_Claude_ (_to_ MURIEL). Aren't we going to have some music? How I
should like you to play those chants to me again! Won't you, Miss
VANE? I _love_ sacred music so.
_Muriel._ Yes; with pleasure. VIOLA has had my organ put in the
billiard-room, to be out of the way.
[_Rises._
_Claude_ (_as he and_ MURIEL _go into the billiard-room_). The
worst point about these clever boys is that they are so cynical! No
sentiment--no heart!
[_Continues ad lib._
_On the Terrace._
_Alan_ (_to_ VIOLA). You have very wonderful eyes, Mrs. TRAVERS,
haven't you?
_Viola._ Have I?
_Alan._ You know you have. Do you believe in palmistry?
_Viola._ I think I do. Do you?
_Alan._ I don't know whether I believe in it, I _like_ it.... Your
line of life....
[_Continues ad lib._
_In the Drawing-room._
_Albert._ That boy is bewildering! He flits over every subject under
the sun! Have a game of piquet, AVERIDGE?
[_They play piquet._
_In the Billiard-room._ MURIEL _playing the organ_. CLAUDE _by
her side trying to look like_ DICKSEE'S _picture, "Harmony."_
_Claude._ Do you ever have that curious feeling that you are doing
exactly what you have done before, hearing--seeing something for the
second time?
_Muriel._ Oh, yes! continually! I felt it during the whole of dinner!
_Claude._ Do you think it shows we knew each other in a previous
existence, Miss VANE?
_Muriel._ No. I am afraid it only shows that you sometimes repeat
yourself.
[_She smiles._
_Claude._ How can you be so unkind, and yet look such a perfect angel!
_Muriel._ I feel exactly like St. Cecilia when I am playing the organ.
_Claude._ And _I_ feel like St. Anthony, Miss VANE.
_On the Terrace._
_Alan._ To get right away from people, to take a drive together, and
bathe our heads in the golden sunlight! In secret! Do--_do_ let us,
Mrs. TRAVERS!
[Illustration: "Bathing her head in the golden sunlight."]
_Viola._ It _would_ be nice! ALBERT is going to town for the day, and
the AVERIDGES are going for an excursion.... But what could we drive
in?
_Alan._ Oh, _I_ will arrange that. I will hire a dog-cart in the
village; and we must meet in a lane, or a field, or something. And you
must say you have been to teach the orphan boy to sew or something. It
would be too sweet!
_Viola._ But--Master ROY----
_Alan._ _Don't_ call me Master ROY. Call me ALAN--when no one is
listening.
_Viola._ ALAN--wouldn't it be much simpler, merely to say we were
going for a drive, and to order the carriage?
_Alan._ Then where's your mystery?
_Viola._ Very well! Then _mind_ you don't tell anyone!
_Alan._ Not tell anyone, Mrs. TRAVERS! But what's the use of a secret
if one doesn't tell it to everyone?
_Viola._ Oh!
_Alan._ I was only joking, dear Mrs. TRAVERS. At three, then....
Sh-sh! (_He picks up her fan with the air of a conspirator._) If I
think of anything else, I'll write a little note, and put it under the
clock on that mantelpiece. Shall I?
_Viola._ What fun! But would it be safe?
_Alan._ Would you rather we corresponded in the _Times_ about it, Mrs.
TRAVERS?
_Viola._ You're making fun of the whole thing.
[_She pouts, &c. He shows by her Line of Fate that all will be
well._
_Mrs. Averidge_ (_to herself_). Well of all the dull houses I ever
stayed at!... Piquet in the drawing-room, chants in the billiard-room,
palmistry with Infant Phenomenons on the Terrace!... It's quite
true, too, what that affected little VANE girl said--the colour _is_
trying.... I'll never come here again!
[_Retires to her room in disgust._
* * * * *
"HECKLING."--At a meeting of the supporters of Mr. MURRAY, Master
of Elibank, the Liberal candidate for West Edinburgh, the following
"heckle" took place:--
"_Mr. Guy._ Seeing you approve of Home Rule all round, what
is the smallest number of Parliaments the United Kingdom would
require? (_Laughter and a Voice:_ 'Send it back to Parliament
Square.')
_The Master of Elibank._ I think that is a question which
can be settled by an ordinary addition sum. (_Cheers and
laughter._)"
Which shows that the Master is a real Master of Arts as well as of
Elibank, and, as regards platform difficulties, good at getting out.
But whether he is equally good at "getting in" the future must decide.
A slippery customer, evidently, is Mr. MURRAY, and his title ought to
be "the Master of Eely-bank!"
* * * * *
A REAL "MAN OF THE TIMES."--_Mr. Punch_ congratulates Dr. W. H.
RUSSELL, endeared to his friends and companions-in-arms as "BILLY
RUSSELL," on his becoming Sir WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, Knight of the
Pen. _Prosit!_
* * * * *
SCOTCH JUNKETING.--A "Curd Fair" has been held, as usual, at
Kilmarnock, and the number of excursionists who left the town, both by
road and rail, is said to have been very large. Well, of course a Curd
Fair naturally leads to a number of whey-farers!
* * * * *
[Illustration: ANIMAL SPIRITS ON DERBY DAY.
(_With Apologies to W. Frith._)]
* * * * *