MRS. M. G. (_to her_ BROTHER-IN-LAW). How _could_ you say that dear Mr.
Tablett was _dull_, Phil? I found him perfectly charming--so original
and unconventional! He's promised to come to me. By the way, _what_ did
you say the name of his book was?
PHIL. _I_ never said he had written a book.
MRS. M. G. Phil--you _did_!--_Sabrina's Other--Something._ Why, I've
been _praising_ it to him, entirely on your recommendation.
PHIL. No, no--_your_ mistake. I only asked you if you'd read _Sabrina's
Uncle's Other Niece_, and, as I made up the title on the spur of the
moment, I should have been rather surprised if you had. _He_ never wrote
a line in his life.
MRS. M. G. How _abominable_ of you! But surely he's famous for
_something_? He talks like it. [_With reviving hope._
PHIL. Oh, yes, he's the inventor and patentee of the new "Sabrina"
Soap--he says he'll make a fortune over it.
MRS. M. G. But he hasn't even done _that_ yet! PHIL, I'll _never_
forgive you for letting me make such an idiot of myself. What _am_ I to
do now? I _can't_ have him coming to me--he's really too impossible!
PHIL. Do? Oh, order some of the soap, and wash your hands of him, I
suppose--not that he isn't a good deal more presentable than some of
your lions, after all's said and done!
[MRS. M. G., _before she takes her leave, contrives to inform_
MR. TABLETT, _with her prettiest penitence, that she has only
just recollected that her luncheon party is put off, and that
her Tuesdays are over for the Season. Directly she returns to
Town, she promises to let him hear from her; in the meantime,
he is not to think of troubling himself to call. So there is no
harm done, after all._
At the Military Tournament.