and observes Miss T. with a sudden attention). That fellow PODBURY has better taste than I gave him credit for. She is pretty—in her peculiar style—quite pretty! Pity she speaks with that deplorable accent.

[Writes—"Vermilion lips that sheathe a parrot tongue," and runs over all the possible rhymes to "tongue."

Podb. (observing that his pencil is idle). Gas cut off again? Come for a toddle. You don't mean to stick here all the evening, eh?

Culch. Well, we might take a turn later on, and see the effect of St. Gudule in the moonlight.

Podb. Something like a rollick that! But what do you say to dropping in quietly at the Eden for an hour or so, eh? Variety show and all that going on.

Culch. Thanks—variety shows are not much in my line; but don't mind me if you want to go.

[PODBURY wanders off, leaving CULCHARD free to observe Miss TROTTER.

Miss T. CHARLEY writes he's having a lovely time in Germany going round. I guess he isn't feeling so cheap as he did. I wish he'd come along right here.

Mr. T. I presume he's put in all the time he had for Belgium—likely we'll fetch up against him somewhere before he's through.

Miss T. Well, and I don't care how soon we do, either. CHARLEY's a bright man, and real cultivated. I'm always telling him that he's purrfectly splendid company, considering he's only a cousin.

Mr. T. That's so every time. I like CHARLEY VAN BOODELER first-rate myself.

Culch. (to himself). If CHARLEY VAN BOODELER was engaged to her, I suppose he'd be here. Pshaw! What does it matter? Somehow, I rather wish now that I'd—but perhaps we shall get into conversation presently. Hang it, here's that fellow PODBURY back again! Wish to goodness he'd— (To PODBURY.) Hallo, so you haven't started yet?

Podb. Been having a talk with the porter. He says there's a big fair over by the Station du Midi, and it's worth seeing. Are you game to come along and sample it, eh?

Culch. (with an easy indifference intended for Miss T.'s benefit). No, I think not, thanks. I'm very comfortable where I am.

[He resumes his writing.

Podb. Well, it's poor fun having to go alone!

[He is just going, when Mr. TROTTER rises and comes towards him.

Mr. T. You'll excuse me, Sir, but did I overhear you remark that there was a festivity in progress in this city?

Podb. So I'm told; a fair, down in the new part. I could tell you how to get to it, if you thought of going.

Mr. T. Well, I don't see how I should ever strike that fair for myself, and I guess if there's anything to be seen we're bound to see it, so me and my darter—allow me to introduce my darter to you—MAUD, this gentleman is Mr.—I don't think I've caught your name, Sir—PODBURY?—Mr. PODBURY who's kindly volunteered to conduct us round.

Miss T. I should have thought you'd want to leave the gentleman some say in the matter, Father—not to mention me!

Podb. (eagerly). But won't you come? Do. I shall be awfully glad if you will!

Miss T. If it makes you so glad as all that, I believe I'll come. Though what you could say different, after Father had put it up so steep on you, I don't know. I'll just go and fix myself first.

[She goes.

Mr. T. (to PODBURY). My only darter, Sir, and a real good girl. We come over from the States, crossed a month ago to-day, and seen a heap already. Been runnin' all over Scotland and England, and kind of looked round Ireland and Wales, and now what we've got to do is to see as much as we can of Germany and Switzerland and It'ly, and get some idea of France before we start home this fall. I guess we're both of us gettin' pretty considerable homesick already. My darter was sayin' to me on'y this evening at table d'hôte, "Father," she sez, "the vurry first thing we'll do when we get home is to go and hev a good square meal of creamed oysters and clams with buckwheat cakes and maple syrup." Don't seem as if we could git along without maple syrup much longer. (Miss TROTTER returns.) You never mean going out without your gums?

Miss T. I guess it's not damp here—any—(To PODBURY.) Now you're going to be Mary, and Father and I have got to be the little lambs and follow you around.

[They go out, leaving CULCHARD annoyed with himself and everybody else, and utterly unable to settle down, to his sonnet again.

IN AN UPPER CORRIDOR, TWO HOURS LATER.

Culch. (coming upon Podbury). So you've got rid of your Americans at last, eh?

Podb. I was in no hurry, I can tell you. She's a ripping little girl—tremendous fun. What do you think she asked me about you?

Culch. (stiff, but flattered). I wasn't aware she had honoured me by her notice. What was it?

Podb. Said you had a sort of schoolmaster look, and wanted to know if you were my tutor. My tutor! [He roars.

Culch. I hope you—ah—undeceived her?

Podb. Rather! Told her it was t'other way round, and I was looking after you. Said you were suffering from melancholia, but were not absolutely dangerous.

Culch. If that's your idea of a joke, all I can say is—

[He chokes with rage.

Podb. (innocently). Why, my dear chap, I thought you wanted 'em kept out of your way!

[CULCHARD slams his bedroom door with temper, leaving PODBURY outside, still chuckling.

THE WRONG OF SEARCH.

(A Dream of the British Inquisition.)

The unfortunate foreigner, travel-stained and suffering from the after-glow of a stormy passage, crawled up the gangway and was once more on land. He carried in his hand a portmanteau.

"Have you anything to declare?" asked an official, in a gold-peaked cap and blue frock coat, gruffly.

"Only that your seas are terrible," was the reply.

The official made no answer, but merely pointed to some planks that had been placed upon trestles. The foreigner glanced at the people who were standing in front of these planks, and noticed that they were pale with apprehension.

"Have you anything to declare?" was a second time uttered—now by a person less gold-laced. Then the official continued, "Here, open it!"

In a moment the portmanteau was thrown with force on the planks, and the foreigner protested.

"I understand you now. I have no cigars—I do not smoke. I have no spirits—I am what you call a teatotaller. I have no lace—I am a widower."

"Open it!" was once more the cry—this time with great vehemence.

"But I am innocent of concealing anything! Believe me, there is nothing to declare! I have some photographic plates—to open them is ruin! I prize my shirts—they are heirlooms—if they are roughly handled I can never wear them again." And the foreigner wrung his hands in his despair.

"If you will not open it," replied the official, unmoved by his eloquent appeal, "we shall detain your luggage."

"But this is barbarous—cruel," continued the foreigner, answering with excitement. "I have been to Constantinople with its mosques, and the Turks have treated me with greater consideration. I have seen the glories of Rome with its Forum, the splendours of Petersburg