class="smcap">Smith. Yes, I know. I am much obliged to you. I will wait as long as is necessary.

Hastings. [Cheerfully.] Oh, it won't be very long.

Doctor. [Folding up the paper.] I beg your pardon, sir, I did not notice there was anyone here.

Smith. [Amicably.] I beg yours. A new clergyman cannot expect to be expected. I only came to see the Duke about some local affairs.

Doctor. [Smiling.] And so, oddly enough, did I. But I suppose we should both like to get hold of him by a separate ear.

Smith. Oh, there's no disguise as far as I'm concerned. I've joined this league for starting a model public-house in the parish; and in plain words, I've come to ask his Grace for a subscription to it.

Doctor. [Grimly.] And, as it happens, I have joined in the petition against the erection of a model public-house in this parish. The similarity of our position grows with every instant.

Smith. Yes, I think we must have been twins.

Doctor. [More good-humouredly.] Well, what is a model public-house? Do you mean a toy?

Smith. I mean a place where Englishmen can get decent drink and drink it decently. Do you call that a toy?

Doctor. No; I should call that a conjuring trick. Or, in apology to your cloth, I will say a miracle.

Smith. I accept the apology to my cloth. I am doing my duty as a priest. How can the Church have a right to make men fast if she does not allow them to feast?

Doctor. [Bitterly.] And when you have done feasting them, you will send them to me to be cured.

Smith. Yes; and when you've done curing them you'll send them to me to be buried.

Doctor. [After a pause, laughing.] Well, you have all the old doctrines. It is only fair you should have all the old jokes too.

Smith. [Laughing also.] By the way, you call it a conjuring trick that poor people should drink moderately.

Doctor. I call it a chemical discovery that alcohol is not a food.

Smith. You don't drink wine yourself?

Doctor. [Mildly startled.] Drink wine! Well—what else is there to drink?

Smith. So drinking decently is a conjuring trick that you can do, anyhow?

Doctor. [Still good-humouredly.] Well, well, let us hope so. Talking about conjuring tricks, there is to be conjuring and all kinds of things here this afternoon.

Smith. Conjuring? Indeed? Why is that?

Enter Hastings with a letter in each hand.

Hastings. His Grace will be with you presently. He asked me to deal with the business matter first of all.

Smith. [Turning eagerly to the Doctor.] But this is rather splendid. The Duke's given £50 to the new public-house.

Hastings. The Duke is very liberal.

Doctor. [Examining his cheque.] Very. But this is rather curious. He has also given £50 to the league for opposing the new public-house.

Hastings. The Duke is very liberal-minded.

Smith. [Staring at his cheque.] Liberal-minded!... Absent-minded, I should call it.

Doctor. [Sitting down and lighting a cigar.] Well, yes. The Duke does suffer a little from absence [puts his cigar in his mouth and pulls during the pause] of mind. He is all for compromise. Don't you know the kind of man who, when you talk to him about the five best breeds of dog, always ends up by buying a mongrel? The Duke is the kindest of men, and always trying to please everybody. He generally finishes by pleasing nobody.

Smith. Yes; I think I know the sort of thing.

Doctor. Take this conjuring, for instance. You know the Duke has two wards who are to live with him now?

Smith. Yes. I heard something about a nephew and niece from Ireland.

Doctor. The niece came from Ireland some months ago, but the nephew comes back from America to-night. [He gets up abruptly and walks about the room.] I think I will tell you all about it. In spite of your precious public-house you seem to me to be a sane man. And I fancy I shall want all the sane men I can get to-night.

Smith. [Rising also.] I am at your service. Do you know, I rather guessed you did not come here only to protest against my precious public-house.

Doctor. [Striding about in subdued excitement.] Well, you guessed right. I was family physician to the Duke's brother in Ireland. I knew the family pretty well.

Smith. [Quietly.] I suppose you mean you knew something odd about the family?

Doctor. Well, they saw fairies and things of that sort.

Smith. And I suppose, to the medical mind, seeing fairies means much the same as seeing snakes?

Doctor. [With a sour smile.] Well, they saw them in Ireland. I suppose it's quite correct to see fairies in Ireland. It's like gambling at Monte Carlo. It's quite respectable. But I do draw the line at their seeing fairies in England. I do object to their bringing their ghosts and goblins and witches into the poor Duke's own back garden and within a yard of my own red lamp. It shows a lack of tact.

Smith. But I do understand that the Duke's nephew and niece see witches and fairies between here and your lamp.

Doctor. Well, the nephew has been in America. It stands to reason you can't see fairies in America. But there is this sort of superstition in the family, and I am not easy in my mind about the girl.

Smith. Why, what does she do?

Doctor. Oh, she wanders about the park and the woods in the evenings. Damp evenings for choice. She calls it the Celtic twilight. I've no use for the Celtic twilight myself. It has a tendency to get on the chest. But what is worse, she is always talking about meeting somebody, some elf or wizard or something. I don't like it at all.

Smith. Have you told the Duke?

Doctor. [With a grim smile.] Oh, yes, I told the Duke. The result was the conjurer.

Smith. [With amazement.] The conjurer?

Doctor. [Puts down his cigar in the ash-tray.] The Duke is indescribable. He will be here presently, and you shall judge for