MISS THREEGAN. (_Extracting long lavender silk stocking from the rubbish._) You know him better than _I_ do.

MISS D. Oh, _do_ be sympathetic, Minnie! I'm _sure_ he does. At least I _would_ be sure if he wasn't always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan.

MISS T. I suppose so. How _does_ one manage to dance through one's heels first? Look at this--isn't it shameful? (_Spreads stocking-heel on open hand for inspection_)

MISS D. Never mind that! You can't mend it. Help me with this hateful bodice, I've run the string _so_, and I've run the string _so_, and I can't make the fulness come right. Where would you put this? (_Waves lilies of the valley._)

MISS T. As high up on the shoulder as possible.

MISS D. Am I quite tall enough? I know it makes May Olger look lop-sided.

MISS T. Yes, but May hasn't your shoulders. Hers are like a hock-bottle.

BEARER. (_Rapping at door._) Captain Sahib _aya._

MISS D. (_Jumping up wildly, and hunting for body, 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.

AGONISED 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. Oh, 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, 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 his moustache?

MISS T. (_Busy with powder-puff_.) Yes, I think so. Why?

MISS D. (_Bending oner 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?

MISS T. Yes, I promise. What did she say?

MISS D. That--that being kissed (_with a rush_) by a man who _didn't_ wax his moustache was--like eating an egg without salt.

MISS T. (_At her full height, with crushing scorn_.) May Olger is a horrid, nasty _Thing_, and you can tell her I said so. I'm glad she doesn't belong to my set--I must go and feed this _man!_ Do I look presentable?

MISS D. Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and then we can talk. _I_ shall listen at the door to hear what you say to him.

MISS T. 'Sure I don't care. _I'm_ not afraid of Captain Gadsby.

_In proof of this swings into drawing-room with a mannish stride followed by two short steps, which produces the effect of a restive horse entering. Misses CAPTAIN GADSBY, who is sitting in the shadow of the window-curtain, and gazes round helplessly._

CAPTAIN GADSBY. (_Aside_.) The filly, by Jove! 'Must ha' picked up that action from the sire. (_Aloud, rising_.) Good evening, Miss Threegan.

MISS T. (_Conscious that she is flushing_.) Good evening, Captain Gadsby. Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a few minutes.

Won't you have some tea? (_Aside_.) I hope Mamma will be quick. What _am_ I to say to the creature? (_Aloud and abruptly_.) Milk and sugar?

CAPT. G. No sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk. Ha-Hmmm.

MISS T. (_Aside_.) If he's going to do that, I'm lost. I shall laugh. I _know_ I shall!

CAPT. G. (_Pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways down his nose_.) Ha-Hmmm. (_Aside_.) 'Wonder what the little beast can talk about. 'Must make a shot at it.

MISS T. (_Aside_.) Oh, this is agonising. I _must_ say something.

BOTH TOGETHER. Have you been---

CAPT. G. I beg your pardon. You were going to say---

MISS T. (_Who has been watching the moustache with awed fascination_.) Won't you have some eggs?

CAPT. G. (_Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table_.) Eggs! (_A side_.) O Hades! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. S'pose they've wiped her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on her duds.

(_Aloud_.) No, thanks.

MISS T. (_Crimson with confusion_.) Oh! I didn't mean that. I wasn't thinking of mou--eggs for an instant. I mean _salt_. Won't you have some sa--- sweets? (_Aside_.) He'll think me a raving lunatic. I wish Mamma would come.

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) It _was_ a nursery-tea and she's ashamed of it. By Jove! She doesn't look half bad when she colours up like that. (_Aloud, helping himself from the dish_.) Have you seen those new chocolates at Peliti's?

MISS T. No, I made these myself. What are they like?

CAPT. G. These! _De_-licious. (_Aside_.) And that's a fact.

MISS T. (_Aside_.) Oh, bother! he'll think I'm fishing for compliments.

(_Aloud_.) No, Peliti's of course.

CAPT. G. (_Enthusiastically_.) Not to compare with these. How d'you make them? I can't get my _khansamah_ to understand the simplest thing beyond mutton and fowl.

MISS T. Yes? I'm not a _khansamah_, you know. Perhaps you frighten him.

You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. It's very bad policy.

CAPT. G. He's so awf'ly stupid.

MISS T. (_Folding her hands in her lap_.) You should call him quietly and say: 'O _khansamah jee!_'