[John calculates that, at this rate, he has a very poor chance of getting away before the Gallery closes.
The Patronising Persons. 'Um! Holbein again, you see—very curious their ideas of painting in those days. Ah, well, Art has made great progress since then—like everything else!
Miss Fisher. So that's the beautiful Queen Mary! I wonder if it is really true that people have got better-looking since those days?
[Glances appealingly at Phlegmatic Fiancé.
Her Phlegmatic Fiancé. I wonder.
Miss F. You hardly ever see such small hands now, do you? With those lovely long fingers, too!
The Phl. F. No, never.
Miss F. Perhaps people in some other century will wonder how anybody ever saw anything to admire in us?
The Phl. F. Shouldn't be surprised.
[Miss F. does wish secretly that Charles had more conversation.
The Aunt. John, just find out who No. 222 is.
John (sulkily). Sir George Penruddocke, Knight.
His Aunt (with enthusiasm). Of course—how interesting this is, isn't it?—seeing all these celebrated persons exactly as they were in life! Now read who he was, John, please.
The Int. Person. Froude tells a curious incident about—
Flippant P. I tell you what it is, old chap, if you read so much history, you'll end by believing it!
The Int. P. (pausing before the Shakspeare portraits). "He was not for an age, but for all time."
The Fl. P. I suppose that's why they've painted none of them alike.
A Person with a talent for Comparison. Mary, come here a moment. Do look at this—"Elizabeth, Lady Hoby"—did you ever see such a likeness?
Mary. Well, dear, I don't quite—
The Person with, &c. It's her living image! Do you mean to say you really don't recognise it?—Why, Cook, of course!
Mary. Ah! (apologetically)—but I've never seen her dressed to go out, you know.
The Uncle. "No. 13, Sir Rowland Hill, Lord Mayor, died 1561"—
Tommy (anxious to escape the threatened chapters if possible). I know about him, Uncle, he invented postage stamps!
OVER THE CASES.
First Patronising P. "A Tooth of Queen Katherine Parr." Dear me! very quaint.
Second P. P. (tolerantly). And not at all a bad tooth, either.
'Arriet (comes to a case containing a hat labelled as formerly belonging to Henry the Eighth). 'Arry, look 'ere; fancy a king going about in a thing like that—pink with a green feather! Why, I wouldn't be seen in it myself!
'Arry. Ah, but that was ole 'Enery all over, that was; he wasn't one for show. He liked a quiet, unassumin' style of 'at, he did. "None of yer loud pot 'ats for Me!" he'd tell the Royal 'atters; "find me a tile as won't attract people's notice, or you won't want a tile yerselves in another minute!" An' you may take yer oath they served him pretty sharp, too!
'Arriet (giggling). It's a pity they didn't ask you to write their Catalogue for 'em.
The Aunt. John, you're not really looking at that needlework—it's Queen Elizabeth's own work, John. Only look how wonderfully fine the stitches are. Ah, she was a truly great woman! I could spend hours over this case alone. What, closing are they, already? We must have another day at this together, John—just you and I.
John. Yes, Aunt. And now—(thinks there is just time to call on the Chestertons, if he goes soon)—can I get you a cab, or put you into a 'bus or anything?
His Aunt. Not just yet; you must take me somewhere where I can get a bun and a cup of tea first, and then we can go over the Catalogue together, and mark all the things we missed, you know.
[John resigns himself to the inevitable rather than offend his wealthy relative; the Intelligent Person comes out, saying he has had "an intellectual treat" and intends to "run through Froude again" that evening. 'Arry and 'Arriet, depart to the "Ocean Wave" at Hengler's. Gallery gradually clears as Scene closes in.
In an Omnibus.
The majority of the inside passengers, as usual, sit in solemn silence, and gaze past their opposite neighbours into vacancy. A couple of Matrons converse in wheezy whispers.
First Matron. Well, I must say a bus is pleasanter riding than what they used to be not many years back, and then so much cheaper, too. Why you can go all the way right from here to Mile End Road for threepence!
Second Matron. What, all that way for threepence—(with an impulse of vague humanity). The poor 'orses!
First Matron. Ah, well, my dear, it's Competition, you know—it don't do to think too much of it.
Conductor (stopping the bus). Orchard Street, Lady!
[To Second Matron, who had desired to be put down there.
Second Matron (to Conductor). Just move on a few doors further, opposite the boot-shop. (To First Matron.) It will save us walking.
Conductor. Cert'inly, Mum, we'll drive in and wait while you're tryin' 'em on, if you like—we ain't in no 'urry!
[The Matrons get out, and their places are taken by two young girls, who are in the middle of a conversation of thrilling interest.
First Girl. I never liked her myself—ever since the way she behaved at his Mother's that Sunday.
Second Girl. How did she behave?
[A faint curiosity is discernible amongst the other passengers to learn how she—whoever she is—behaved that Sunday.
First Girl. Why, it was you told me! You remember. That night Joe let out about her and the automatic scent fountain.
Second Girl. Oh, yes, I remember now. (General disappointment.) I couldn't help laughing myself. Joe didn't ought to have told—but she needn't have got into such a state over it, need she?
First Girl. That was Eliza all over. If George had been sensible, he'd have broken it off then and there—but no, he wouldn't hear a word against her, not at that time—it was the button-hook opened his eyes!
[The other passengers strive to dissemble a frantic desire to know how and why this delicate operation was performed.
Second Girl (mysteriously). And enough too! But what put George off most was her keeping that bag so quiet.
[The general imagination is once more stirred to its depths by this mysterious allusion.
First Girl. Yes, he did feel that, I know, he used to come and go on about it to me by the hour together. "I shouldn't have minded so much," he told me over and over again, with the tears standing in his eyes—"if it hadn't been that the bottles was all silver-mounted!"
Second Girl. Silver-mounted? I never heard of that before—no wonder he felt hurt!
First