_Mrs. Mossop._
A true rumor. She's taking her leave of us, the dear.
Ablett.
This will be a blow to the "Wells," ma'am.
_Mrs. Mossop._
The best juvenile lady the "Wells" has known since Mr. Phillips's
management.
_Ablett._
Report 'as it, a love affair, ma'am.
_Mrs. Mossop._
A love affair, indeed. And a poem into the bargain, Ablett, if poet was
at hand to write it.
_Ablett._
Reelly, Mrs. Mossop! [_Polishing a tumbler._] Is the beer to be bottled
or draught, ma'am, on this occasion?
_Mrs. Mossop._
Draught for Miss Trelawny, invariably.
_Ablett._
Then draught it must be all round, out of compliment. Jest fancy!
nevermore to 'ear customers speak of Trelawny of the "Wells," except as
a pleasin' memory! A non-professional gentleman they give out, ma'am.
_Mrs. Mossop._
Yes.
_Ablett._
Name of Glover.
_Mrs. Mossop._
Gower. Grandson of Vice Chancellor Sir William Gower, Mr. Ablett.
_Ablett._
You don't say, ma'am!
_Mrs. Mossop._
No father nor mother, and lives in Cavendish Square with the old judge
and a great aunt.
_Ablett._
Then Miss Trelawny quits the Profession, ma'am, for good and all, I
presoom?
_Mrs. Mossop._
Yes, Ablett, she's at the theaytre at this moment, distributing some of
her little ornaments and fallals among the ballet. She played last night
for the last time--the last time on any stage. [_Rising and going to
the sideboard-cupboard._] And without so much as a line in the bill to
announce it. What a benefit she might have taken!
_Ablett._