_Mr. Schohorff_ (_loudly_). Ah, _that's_ a picture I know well; seen
it many a time in the Octagon Boudoir at dear old HATCHMENT's. But
it looks better lighted up. I remember the last time I was down there
they told me they'd been asked to lend it, but the Countess didn't
seem to think (_&c., &c._).
_Mrs. Frivell_ (_before "Death of Dido," by Liberale da Verona_). Why
is she standing on that pile of furniture in the courtyard, though?
_Mr. F._ Because Æneas had jilted her, and so she stabbed herself on a
funeral pyre after setting fire to it, you see.
_Mrs. F._ (_disapprovingly_). How _very_ odd. I thought they only did
that in India. But who are all those people looking-on?
_Mr. F._ Smart people of the period, my dear. Of course Dido would
send out invitations for a big function like that--Wind-up of the
season--Farewell Reception--sure to be a tremendous rush for cards.
Notice the evident enjoyment of the guests. They are depicted in the
act of remarking to one another that their hostess is doing all in
_her_ power to make the thing go off well. Keen observer of human
nature, old LIBERALE!
_Mrs. F._ Selfish creatures!