PRINCE (_encouraged to his feet by various royal nudges_). My liege
King and Queen-Mother, you can have the competitors brought in, and
I will take a look at them; but I have no hope. My curse is this,
that I am a scoffer about females. I can play with them for a idle
hour and then cast them from me even as I cast this banana skin. I
can find none so lovely that I may love her for aye from the depths
of my passionate heart. I am so blasted particular. O yes! O yes!
(_He sits down and looks helpless._)
KING (_undismayed_). All ready?
(_The_ LORD MAYOR _bows_.)
All is ready, my son.
PRINCE (_bored_). Then let loose the Beauts.
(_To heavenly music from the royal hurdy-gurdies the_
BEAUTIES _descend the stairs, one at a time. There are a
dozen of the fine creatures, in impudent confections such
as_ CINDERELLA _has seen in papers in_ MR. BODIE’S _studio;
some of them with ropes of hair hanging down their proud
backs as she has seen them in a hair-dresser’s window. As
we know, she has once looked on at a horse show, and this
has coloured her conception of a competition for a prince.
The ladies prance round the ball-room like high-stepping
steeds; it is evident that_ CINDERELLA _has had them fed
immediately before releasing them; her pride is to show
them at their very best, and then to challenge them._
_They paw the floor wantonly until_ LORD TIMES _steps
forward. Peace thus restored_, HIS MAJESTY _proceeds_.)
KING. The first duty of a royal consort being to be _good_, the
test of goodness will now be applied by the Lord Mayor. Every
competitor who does not pass in goodness will be made short work of.
(_Several ladies quake, and somewhere or other unseen_
CINDERELLA _is chuckling_.)
ONE OF THE STEEDS. I wasn’t told about this. It isn’t fair.