Scene—A London Lawn. A Band in a costume half-way between the uniforms of a stage hussar and a circus groom, is performing under a tree. Guests discovered slowly pacing the turf, or standing and sitting about in groups.

Mrs. Maynard Gery (to her Brother-in-law—who is thoroughly aware of her little weaknesses). Oh, Phil,—you know everybody—do tell me! Who is that common-looking little man with the scrubby beard, and the very yellow gloves—how does he come to be here?

Phil. Where? Oh, I see him. Well—have you read Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece?

Mrs. M. G. No—ought I to have? I never even heard of it!

Phil. Really? I wonder at that—tremendous hit—you must order it—though I doubt if you'll be able to get it.

Mrs. M. G. Oh, I shall insist on having it. And he wrote it? Really, Phil, now I come to look at him, there's something rather striking about his face. Did you say Sabrina's Niece's Other Aunt—or what?

Phil. Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece was what I said—not that it signifies.

Mrs. M. G. Oh, but I always attach the greatest importance to names, myself. And do you know him?

Phil. What, Tablett? Oh, yes—decent little chap; not much to say for himself, you know.

Mrs. M. G. I don't mind that when a man is clever—do you think you could bring him up and introduce him?

Phil. Oh, I could—but I won't answer for your not being disappointed in him.

Mrs. M. G. I have never been disappointed in any genius yet—perhaps, because I don't expect too much—so go, dear boy; he may be surrounded unless you get hold of him soon. [Phil obeys.

Phil (accosting the Scrubby Man). Well, Tablett, old fellow, how are things going with you? Sabrina flourishing?

Mr. Tablett (enthusiastically). It's a tremendous hit, my boy; orders coming in so fast they don't know how to execute 'em—there's a fortune in it, as I always told you!

Phil. Capital!—but you've such luck. By the way, my sister-in-law is most anxious to know you.

Mr. T. (flattered). Very kind of her. I shall be delighted. I was just thinking I felt quite a stranger here.

Phil. Come along then, and I'll introduce you. If she asks you to her parties by any chance, mind you go—sure to meet a lot of interesting people.

Mr. T. (pulling up his collar). Just what I enjoy—meeting interesting people—the only society worth cultivating, to my mind, Sir. Give me intellect—it's of more value than wealth!

[They go in search of Mrs. M. G.

First Lady on Chair. Look at the dear Vicar getting that poor Lady Pawperse an ice. What a very spiritual expression he has, to be sure—really quite apostolic!

Second Lady. We are not in his parish, but I have always heard him spoken of as a most excellent man.

First Lady. Excellent! My dear, that man is a perfect Saint! I don't believe he knows what it is to have a single worldly thought! And such trials as he has to bear, too! With that dreadful wife of his!

Second Lady. That's the wife, isn't it?—the dowdy little woman, all alone, over there? Dear me, what could he have married her for?

First Lady. Oh, for her money of course, my dear!

Mrs. Pattallon (to Mrs. St. Martin Somerville). Why, it really is you! I absolutely didn't know you at first. I was just thinking "Now who is that young and lovely person coming along the path?" You see—I came out without my glasses to-day, which accounts for it!

Mr. Chuck (meeting a youthful Matron and Child). Ah, Mrs. Sharpe, how de do! I'm all right. Hullo, Toto, how are you, eh, young lady?

Toto (primly). I'm very well indeed, thank you. (With sudden interest.) How's the idiot? Have you seen him lately?

Mr. C. (mystified). The idiot, eh? Why, fact is, I don't know any idiot!—give you my word!

Toto (impatiently). Yes, you do—you know. The one Mummy says you're next door to—you must see him sometimes! You did say Mr. Chuck was next door to an idiot, didn't you, Mummy? [Tableau.

Mrs. Prattleton. Let me see—did we have a fine Summer in '87? Yes, of course—I always remember the weather by the clothes we wore, and that June and July we wore scarcely anything—some filmy stuff that belonged to one's ancestress, don't you know. Such fun! By the way, what has become of Lucy?

Mrs. St. Patticker. Oh, I've quite lost sight of her lately—you see she's so perfectly happy now, that she's ceased to be in the least interesting!

Mrs. Hussiffe (to Mr. De Mure). Perhaps you can tell me of a good coal merchant? The people who supply me now are perfect fiends, and I really must go somewhere else.

Mr. de Mure. Then I'm afraid you must be rather difficult to please.

Mr. Tablett has been introduced to Mrs. Maynard Gery—with the following result.

Mrs. M. G. (enthusiastically). I'm so delighted to make your acquaintance. When my brother-in-law told me who you were, I positively very nearly shrieked. I am such an admirer of your—(thinks she won't commit herself to the whole title—and so compounds)—your delightful Sabrina!

Mr. T. Most gratified to hear it, I'm sure. I'm told there's a growing demand for it.

Mrs. M. G. Such a hopeful sign—when one was beginning quite to despair of the public taste!

Mr. T. Well, I've always said—So long as you give the Public a really first-rate article, and are prepared to spend any amount of money on pushing it, you know, you're sure to see a handsome return for your outlay—in the long run. And of course you must get it carefully analysed by competent judges—

Mrs. M. G. Ah, but you can feel independent of criticism now, can't you?

Mr. T. Oh, I defy any one to find anything unwholesome in it—it's as suitable for the most delicate child as it is for adults—nothing to irritate the most sensitive—

Mrs. M. G. Ah, you mean certain critics are so thin-skinned—they are: indeed!

Mr. T. (warming to his subject). But the beauty of this particular composition is that it causes absolutely no unpleasantness or inconvenience afterwards. In some cases, indeed, it acts like a charm. I've known of two cases of long-standing erysipelas it has completely cured.

Mrs. M. G. (rather at sea). How gratifying that must be. But that is the magic of all truly great work, it is such an anodyne—it takes people so completely out of themselves—doesn't it?

Mr. T. It takes anything of that sort out of them, Ma'am. It's the finest discovery of the age, no household will be without it in a few months—though perhaps I say it who shouldn't.

Mrs. M. G. (still more astonished). Oh, but I like to hear you. I'm so tired of hearing people pretending to disparage what they have done, it's such a pose, and I hate posing. Real genius is never modest. (If he had been more retiring, she would have, of course, reversed this axiom.) I wish you would come and see me on one of my Tuesdays, Mr. Tablett, I should feel so honoured, and I think you would meet some congenial spirits—do look in some evening—I will send you a card if I may—let me see—could you come and lunch next Sunday? I've got a little man coming who was very nearly eaten up by cannibals. I think he would interest you.

Mr. T. I shall be proud to meet him. Er—did they eat much of him?

Mrs. M. G. (who privately thinks this rather vulgar). How witty you are! That's quite worthy of—er—Sabrina, really! Then you will come? So glad. And now I mustn't keep you from your other admirers any longer.

[She dismisses him.

LATER.

Mrs. M. G. (to her Brother-in-law). How could you say that dear Mr. Tablett was dull, Phil? I found him perfectly charming—so original and unconventional! He's promised to come to me. By the way, what did you say the name of his book was?

Phil. I never said he had written a book.

Mrs. M. G. Phil—you did!—Sabrina's Other—Something. Why, I've been praising it to him, entirely on your recommendation.

Phil. No, no—your mistake. I only asked you if you'd read Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece, and, as I made up the title on the spur of the moment, I should have been rather surprised if you had. He never wrote a line in his life.

Mrs. M. G. How abominable of you! But surely he's famous for something? He talks like it. [With reviving hope.

Phil. Oh, yes, he's the inventor and patentee of the new "Sabrina" Soap—he says he'll make a fortune over it.

Mrs. M. G. But he hasn't even done that yet! Phil, I'll never forgive you for letting me make such an idiot of myself. What am I to do now? I can't have him coming to me—he's really too impossible!

Phil. Do? Oh, order some of the soap, and wash your hands of him, I suppose—not that he isn't a good deal more presentable than some of your lions, after all's said and done!

[Mrs. M. G., before she takes her leave, contrives to inform Mr. Tablett, with her prettiest penitence, that she has only just recollected that her luncheon party is put off, and that her Tuesdays are over for the Season. Directly she returns to Town, she promises to let him hear from her; in the meantime, he is not to think of troubling himself to call. So there is no harm done, after all.