these—er—Revolting Daughters?

Miss Spelwane. No, you haven't; and I thought it so considerate of you.

[Mr. Shorthorn gives up dragging, in discouragement.

Pill. (sotto voce, to Miss Spelwane). Have you quite done sitting on that poor unfortunate man? I heard you!

Miss Spelw. (in the same tone). I'm afraid I have been rather beastly to him. But, oh, he is such a bore—he would talk about his horrid "silos" till I asked him whether they were easy to tame. After that, the subject dropped—somehow.

Pill. I see you've been punishing him for not happening to be a distinguished Poet. I thought he was to have been the fortunate man?

Miss Spelw. So he was; but they changed it all at the last moment: it really was rather provoking. I could have talked to him.

Pill. Lady Rhoda appears to be consoling him. Poor dear Archie's face is quite a study. But really I don't see that his poetry is so very wonderful; no more did you this morning!

Miss Spelw. Because you deliberately picked out the worst bits, and read them as badly as you could!

Pill. Ah, well, he's here to read them for himself now. I daresay he'd be delighted to be asked.

Miss Spelw. Do you know, Bertie, that's rather a good idea of yours. I'll ask him to read us something to-night.

Pill. (aghast). To-night! With all these people here? I say, they'll never stand it, you know.

[Lady Culverin gives the signal.

Miss Spelw. (as she rises). They ought to feel it an immense privilege. I know I shall.

The Bishop (to himself, as he rises). Port in sight—at last! But, oh, what I have had to suffer!

Lady Cant. (at parting). Well, we've had quite one of our old discussions. I always enjoy talking to you, Bishop. But I haven't yet got at your reasons for voting as you did on the Parish Councils Bill: we must go into that upstairs.

The Bishop (with veracity). I shall be—ah—all impatience, Lady Cantire. (To himself.) I fervently trust that a repetition of this experience may yet be spared me!

Lady Rhoda (as she leaves Spurrell). You will tell me the name of the stuff upstairs, won't you? So very much ta!

Archie (to himself). I'd like to tar him very much, and feather him too, for cuttin' me out like this! (The men sit down; Spurrell finds himself between Archie and Captain Thicknesse, at the further end of the table; Archie passes the wine to Spurrell with a scowl.) What are you drinkin'? Claret? What do you do your writin' on, now, as a general thing?

Spurr. (on the defensive). On paper, Sir, when I've any to do. Do you do yours on a slate?

Captain Thicknesse. I say, that's rather good. Had you there, Bearpark!

Spurr. (to Archie, lowering his voice). Look here, I see you're trying to put a spoke in my wheel. You saw me writing at dinner, and went and told that young lady I was going to take everything off there and then, which you must have known I wasn't likely to do. Now, Sir, it's no business of yours that I can see; but, as you seem to be interested, I may tell you that I shall do it in my own room, as soon as I leave this table, and there will be no fuss or publicity about it whatever. I hope you're satisfied now?

Archie. Oh, I'm satisfied. (He rises.) Left my cigarette-case upstairs—horrid bore—must go and get it.

Capt. Thick. They'll be bringing some round in another minute.

Archie. Prefer my own. (To himself, as he leaves the hall.) I knew I was right. That bounder is meaning to scribble some rot about us all! He's goin' straight up to his room to do it.... Well, he may find a little surprise when he gets there!

Capt. Thick. (to himself). Mustn't let this poet fellow think I'm jealous; daresay, after all, there's nothing serious between them. Not that it matters to me; anyway, I may as well talk to him. I wonder if he knows anything about steeplechasin'.

[He discovers that Spurrell is not unacquainted with this branch of knowledge.

Scene XX.—A Corridor leading to the Housekeeper's Room.

Time—9.30 P.M.

Undershell (to himself). If I wasn't absolutely compelled by sheer hunger, I would not touch a morsel in this house. But I can't get my things back till after ten. When I do, I will insist on a conveyance to the nearest inn. In the meantime I must sup. After all, no one need know of this humiliating adventure. And if I am compelled to consort with these pampered menials, I think I shall know how to preserve my dignity—even while adapting myself to their level. And that girl will be there—a distinctly redeeming fact in the situation. I will be easy and even affable; I will lay aside all foolish pride; it would be unreasonable to visit their employer's snobbery upon them. I hear conversation inside this room. This must be the door. I—I suppose I had better go in.

[He enters.

"I shall be—ah—all impatience, Lady Cantire."

FOLLOWING FOOTSTEPS.

(Fragment from a Romance founded on Reality.)

He had become famous. Or perhaps that was scarcely the word—notorious would have been better. At any rate his name had appeared in the papers. For nine days everyone talked about him. It was during those nine days that he was wanted. No, not by the myrmidons of the law. He had escaped them. His plea of innocent had been accepted. So far as Scotland Yard was concerned he was safe. Quite safe.

But was he safe from "that other"? Ah, there was the point. With the instinct of desperation he took himself off. He hurried away. He went by an excursion train—one that stopped at all the stations and was called a "fast train to this place" and "that place," but never referred to in connection with its destination—and arrived in due time at a cockney watering-place.

He was followed! As sure as fate, came the follower! Ready to hunt him down! Ready to take him! He rapidly repacked his bag. He hurriedly left for the station. Once again he was flying away. Now he had chosen a prosperous city. The place was teeming with population. Surely he would be lost in this giddy throng? No. He was followed! On came the pursuer! Ready to take him!

Again and again the same thing happened. Did he go to the Continent, his pursuer was after him. Did he travel to Scotland, he was met in the Highlands by the same fatal presence.

It was useless to fight against