_A Fiancé_. This is the "_Wheel of Fortune_," EMILY, you see.
(_Reads._) "Sad, but inexorable, the fateful figure turns the wheel.
The sceptred King, once uppermost, is now beneath his Slave ... while
beneath the King is seen the laurelled head of the Poet."
_His Fiancée_ (_who would be charming if she would not try--against
Nature--to be funny_.) It's a kind of giddy-go-round then, I
suppose; or is it BURNE-JONES's idea of a revolution--don't you
see--_revolving_?
_Fiancé_ (_who makes a practice--even already--of discouraging these
sallies_.) It's only an allegorical way of representing that the
Slave's turn has come to triumph.
_Fiancée_. Well, I don't see that he has much to _triumph_ about--he's
tied on like the rest of them, and it must be just as uncomfortable on
the top of that wheel as the bottom.
[_Her Fiancé recognises that allegory is thrown away upon
her, and proposes to take her into the Hall and show her Gog
and Magog._
_A Niece_ (_to an Impenetrable Relative--whom she plants, like a heavy
piece of ordnance, in front of a particular canvas_). There, Aunt,
what do you think of _that_ now?
_The Aunt_ (_after solemnly staring at it with a conscientious effort
to take it in._) Well, my dear, I must say it--it's very 'ighly
varnished. [_She is taken home as hopeless._
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