SCENE III.--Mrs. TIDMARSH'S _Drawing-room. Wall-paper of big grey
peonies sprawling over a shiny pale salmon ground. Over-mantel in
black and gold. Large mirrors: cut-glass gaselier, supplemented by
two standard lamps with yellow shades. Furniture upholstered in
yellow and brown brocade. Crimson damask hangings. Parian
statuettes under glass, on walnut "What-nots"; cheap china in
rosewood cabinets. Big banner-screen embroidered in beads, with
the Tidmarsh armorial bearings, as recently ascertained by the
Heralds' College. Time, twenty minutes to eight._ Mrs. TIDMARSH
_is seated, flushed and expectant, near the fire, her little
daughter_, GWENDOLEN, _aged seven, is apparently absorbed in a
picture-book close by._ Miss SEATON _is sitting by a side-table,
at some distance from them. Enter_ Mr. TIDMARSH, _who, obeying a
sign from his wife, approaches the hearth-rug, and lowers his
voice to a cautious under-tone._
_Mr. Tid._ It's all right, SEAKALE got in at BLANKLEY'S just as they were
closing. They said they would send round and stop the person, if
possible--but they couldn't say, for certain, whether he mightn't have
started already.
_Mrs. Tid._ Then he may come, even now! May I ask what you intend to do if
he does, MONTAGUE?
_Mr. Tid._ Well, that's what I rather wanted to ask _you_, my dear. We
might tell SEAKALE to send him away.
_Mrs. Tid._ If you do, he'll be certain to send away the wrong
person--Uncle GABRIEL, as likely as not!
_Mr. Tid._ Um----yes, I never thought of that--no, he must be shown up.
Couldn't you explain to him, quietly, that we have made up our party and
shan't require his--hem--services?
_Mrs. Tid._ I? Certainly _not_, MONTAGUE. _You_ hired him, and you must get
rid of him yourself!
_Mr. Tid._ (_uneasily._) 'Pon my word, MARIA, it's an awkward thing to do.
I almost think we'd better keep him if he comes--we shall have to _pay_ for
him anyhow. After all, he'll be quite inoffensive--nobody will notice he's
been hired for the evening.
_Mrs. Tid._ He may be one of the assistants out of the shop for all we can
tell. And you're going to let him stay and make us thirteen, the identical
thing he was hired to avoid! Well, I shall have to let Miss SEATON dine,
after all--that's what it comes to, and this creature can take her down--it
will be a little change for her. GWENNIE, my pet, run down and tell SEAKALE
that if he hears me ring twice after everybody has come, he's to lay two
extra places before he announces dinner. (GWENNIE _departs reluctantly_;
Mrs. T. _crosses to_ Miss SEATON.) Oh, Miss SEATON, my husband and I have
been thinking whether we couldn't manage to find a place for you at dinner
to-night. Of course, it is _most_ unusual, and you must not expect us to
make a _precedent_ of it; but--er--you seem rather out of spirits, and
perhaps a little cheerful society--just for once----I don't know if it can
be arranged yet, but I will let you know about that later on.
_Miss Seaton_ (_to herself_). I do believe she _means_ to be kind!
(_Aloud._) Of course, I shall be very pleased to dine, if you wish it.
_Seakale_ (_at door_). Mr. and Mrs. GABRIEL GILWATTLE, and Miss BUGLE!
[_Enter a portly old Gentleman, with light prominent eyes and a
crest of grizzled auburn hair, in the wake of an imposing Matron
in ruby velvet: they are followed by an elderly Spinster in black
and silver, who rattles with jet._
_Miss Bugle_ (_after the usual greetings_). I hope, dearest MARIA, you will
excuse me if I am not quite in my usual spirits this evening; but my
cockatoo, whom I have had for ages, has been in convulsions the whole
afternoon, and though I left him calmer, done up in warm flannel on the rug
in front of the fire, and the maid promised faithfully to sit up with him,
and telegraph if there was the slightest change, I can't help feeling I
ought never to have come.
_Aunt Joanna_ (_to her host._) Such a drive as it is here, all the way from
Regent's Park, and in this fog--I told GABRIEL that if he escapes
bronchitis to-morrow----
_Seakale._ Mr. and Mrs. DITCHWATER! Mr. TOOMER!
[Illustration: "Mr. and Mrs. Ditchwater!"]
_Mr. Ditch._ Yes, dear Mrs. TIDMARSH, our opportunities for these festive
meetings grow more and more limited with each advancing year. Seven dear
friends, at whose board we have sat, and they at ours, within the past
twelve months, carried off--all gone from us!
_Mrs. Ditch._ _Eight_, JEREMIAH, if you count Mr. JAUNDERS--though _he_
only dined with us once.
_Mr. Ditch._ To be sure, and never left his bed again. Well, well, it
should teach us, as I was remarking to my dear wife as we drove along, to
set a higher value than we do on such hospitalities as we are still
privileged to enjoy.
_Mr. Toomer_ (_to_ Mrs. TID.) My poor wife would, I am sure, have charged
me with all manner of messages, if she had not been more or less delirious
all day--but I am in no anxiety about her--she is so often like that, it is
almost chronic.
_Seakale._ Mr. and Mrs. BODFISH! Miss FLINDERS! Mr. POFFLEY!
_Mr. Bodf._ (_after salutations._) Mrs. BODFISH and myself have just been
the victims of a most extraordinary mistake! We positively walked straight
into your next-door neighbour's house, and if we had not been undeceived by
a mummy on the first landing, I don't know where we should have found
ourselves next.
_Mrs. Tid._ _A mummy!_ How _very_ disagreeable; such a _peculiar_ thing to
have about a house? But we really know nothing about the people next door.
We have never encouraged any intimacy. We thought it best.
_Mrs. Bodf._ I told their man-servant as we came away that I considered he
had behaved disgracefully in not telling us our mistake at once; no doubt
he had a motive; people _are_ so unprincipled!
_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?
[Illustration: WRITING THE QUEEN'S SPEECH.]
_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!
[_There is a perceptible flutter in the company, as a ruddy-haired
and rather plain young man enters with an apologetic and even
diffident air, and pauses in evident uncertainty as to his host
and hostess._
_Uncle Gab._ (_to himself._) A Lord! Bless my soul! MONTY and MARIA are
getting up in the world!
_Guests_ (_to themselves._) A Lord! No _wonder_ they kept the dinner back!
_Miss Seaton_ (_after a hurried glance--to herself._) Good Heavens! DOUGLAS
CLAYMORE!--reduced to this! [_She lowers her head._
_Mr. Tid._ (_to himself._) They might have told me they were going to send
us a Lord--_I_ never ordered one! I wonder if he's genuine--he don't _look_
it. If I could only find out, quietly!
_Mrs. Tid._ (_to herself._) Gracious! And I was going to send him in with
the Governess! (_To her Husb. in a whisper._) MONTAGUE, what are you
_about_? Go and be civil to him--do!
[_She rings the bell twice:_ Mr. TIDMARSH _advances, purple with
indignation and embarrassment, to welcome the new-comer, who
shakes him warmly by the hand_.
(_End of Scene III._)
* * * * *
HER WAY OF PUTTING IT.--Mrs. R. thinks she has an excellent memory for
riddles. She was delighted with that somewhat old conundrum about "What is
more wonderful than JONAH in the whale?" to which the answer is, "Two men
in a fly," and determined to puzzle her nephew with it the very next time
she met him. "Such a capital riddle I've got for you, JOHN!" she exclaimed,
"Let me see. Oh, yes--I remember--yes, that's it;" and then, having settled
the form of the question, she put it thus--"What is more wonderful than two
men in an omnibus?" And when she gave the answer, "JONAH in a fly," and
correcting herself immediately, said, "No--I mean, 'JONAH in a whale,'" her
nephew affectionately recommended his excellent relative to lie down and
take a little rest.
* * * * *
RAILWAY RATES.--What better rate can there be than that of the Flying
Dutchman to the South, and the Flying Scotchman to the North; the two hours
and a-half express to Bournemouth, and the Granville two hours to Ramsgate?
The word "Rates" is objectionable as being associated with taxes--and to
avoid the taxes the Fishermen are going to employ smacks and boys. Poor
boys! there are a lot of smacks about. As the Pantomime and Music-hall poet
sang, "Tooral looral lido, whacky smacky smack!" But though they, the
Fishermen, hereby avoid the Rails, yet they can't do without their network
of lines.
* * * * *
When an actor has to make love to an actress on the stage, it is "purely a
matter of business." Real "love-making" is never a matter of business; most
often 'tis very much the contrary. The "matter of business" comes in with
"making an uncommonly good marriage," but the love-making has little to do
with this, except as it is, on the stage, "a matter of business."
* * * * *