Bearer (rapping at door).—Captain Sahib has come.
Miss D. (jumping up wildly, and hunting for bodice, which she has discarded owing to the heat of the day).—Captain Sahib! What Captain Sahib? Oh, good gracious, and I'm only half-dressed! Well, I shan't bother.
Miss T. (calmly).—You needn't. It isn't for us. That's Captain Gadsby. He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes five days out of the seven.
Agonized Voice (from an inner apartment).—Minnie, run out and give Captain Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be ready in ten minutes; and, O Minnie, come to me an instant, there's a dear girl!
Miss T.—O bother! (Aloud.) Very well, Mamma.
Exit, and reappears, after five minutes, flushed, and rubbing her fingers.
Miss D.—You look pink. What has happened?
Miss T. (in a stage whisper).—A twenty-four-inch waist, and she won't let it out. Where are my bangles? (Rummages on the toilet table, and dabs at her hair with a brush in the interval.)
Miss D.—Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don't think I've met him.
Miss T.—You must have. He belongs to the Harrar set. I've danced with him, but I've never talked to him. He's a big yellow man, in the Pink Hussars, just like a newly hatched chicken, with an e-normous moustache. He walks like this (imitates Cavalry swagger), and he goes "Ha—Hmmm!" deep down in his throat when he can't think of anything to say. Mamma likes him. I don't.
Miss D. (abstractedly).—Does he wax that moustache?
Miss T. (busy with powder-puff).—Yes, I think so. Why?
Miss D. (bending over the bodice and sewing furiously).—Oh, nothing—only
Miss T. (sternly).—Only what? Out with it, Emma.
Miss D.—Well, May Olger—she's engaged to Mr. Charteris, you know—said . . . . Promise you won't repeat this?
