Miss Adelaide (warming her toes on the fender before sitting down to luncheon). Oh, how cold it was in Church.

Captain Byrton. Wasn't it. Upon my word if they expect people to go, they ought to keep the place warm.

Chilvern. It was so cold I couldn't go to sleep during the sermon (knives and forks at work).

Cazell. It wasn't such a very bad sermon. Pickles, please! Thanks.

Myself (showing some interest). Who preached?

Mrs. Frimmely. I don't know his name. He wasn't here last Sunday.

Boodels (whose headache has entirely disappeared). Ah, the Rector perhaps. There are two Churches here, and he has two Curates.

Miss Bella (frowningly). He preached in black. Milburd. It is the Rector. It's what they call ‘Low Sunday’ here.

Chilvern. What's that?

Madame. Not Low Sunday with us; that is after Easter Day.

Medford (explaining). Ah yes, Boodels refers to the tone of their Churchmanship. The Rector is Broad Church, Mr. Marveloe, the senior Curate, is High Church, and Mr. Alpely, the junior Curate, is Low. This just suits the parishioners, and they take it turn and turn about at the two Churches, the Rector doing duty at both, accommodating himself to either view as the case may be. One Sunday they're high, another they're low, and the other Church is vice versÂ.

Miss Adelaide. To-day it was the duett of parson and clerk.

Miss Bella. Oh, horrid! I'd rather stop at home than hear that. Why at S. Phillips at home we have vestments, and incense, and everything is done so well.

Miss Medford (quietly). Well, I'd just as soon go to one as another. May I trouble you for the salt, Signor Regniati?

Signor. My Jo! If zey do not preach I vould go—

Madame (severely). Mr. Regniati, hand the salt. Mrs. Frimmely. What an absurd cloak that Mrs. Tringmer had.

Miss Bella. I suppose she thought it was quite the fashion.

Mrs. Frimmely. Who was that lady—Captain Byrton, do you know?—who came in rustling all up the Church, and so scented! as if she'd stepped out of a perfumer's.

Byrton. Don't know. Perhaps she has stepped out of a perfumer's, and is an advertisement.

Happy Thought (for a perfumer).—To send scented people about. Questions asked, e.g. Stranger (sniffing) goes up politely and inquires, “I beg a hundred pardons, but what scent—what delicious scent are you wearing?” Then the lady replies, “Don't mention it, Ma'am. It's (whatever the name is), and there's the card.” And gives her the perfumer's address.

Miss Adelaide. I thought Miss Vyner rather prettily dressed.

Mrs. Frimmely. Oh! but did you see her gloves! Such a fit!

Miss Bella. And such a colour!

Cazell. I wonder who that bald-headed man in front of me was? There was a collection, and he put a sovereign into the plate. Chilvern. I'm always unlucky in that way. Whenever I go to Church there's always a collection.

Captain Byrton. Yes. You kept the man waiting at the pew door for at least two minutes, while you fumbled in all your pockets. Anyone have any cheese?

Chilvern. I knew I'd got a shilling somewhere—but it was a fourpenny-bit after all.

Miss Medford. How very disturbing it must be for the clergyman, when a child persists in crying at intervals all through the sermon.

Mrs. Frimmely. Yes, little things like that oughtn't to be brought to church; at least, not to sit out sermons.

Boodels (with some vague recollection of the baptismal service). But you forget, Mrs. Frimmely, godfathers and godmothers promise to bring children to hear sermons. That's one of the three things they vow in the child's name.

Mrs. Frimmely. Really? (seeing no help for it short of a second reformation, or disestablishment). Well it's a great pity.

Milburd (to Byrton). I see by the Field to-day, that Lysander is going up for the Derby.

Byrton. He's nowhere. Corkscrew's at a hundred to fifteen. Mrs. Frimmely. I was right last year. Wasn't I? (To her husband.)

Frimmely. Yes: for once. (Mrs. Frimmely tosses her head.)

Soames (the Professor of Scientific Economy). Betting can be reduced to the certainty of a mathematical calculation.

Cazell (to him). I tell you what you ought to do, then.

Soames (innocently). What?

Cazell. Make your fortune. (A titter. Pause.)

Medford. I see by the Musical Times that we're to have the new prima donna, Stellafanti, at Covent Garden.

Madame. We heard her years ago at Naples. (Interest in her diminishes.)

Mrs. Frimmely. We must get up some theatricals here.

Misses Adelaide and Bella. Oh yes, do let's!

Miss Medford. I think they are such fun.

Medford. We could do something musical, easily.

The Signor (while the others talk about theatricals). My Jo! I should like to get a leettel shoot vile I am here.

Capt Byrton. Birds very wild. Have you had good sport?

Signor. My Jo! at Bad-ge-bee zere are—oh—'eaps of birds! but ven zey see me, zey go avays. I go out to shoot zem, an' I shoot no-sing. Here the conversation becomes general, some are hot on theatricals and musical matters, others on sporting. Mr. Frimmely and the Professor are discussing finance. Miss Medford and Mrs. Regniati have got on an ecclesiastical topic.

—“We might play an opera, with a part for—”

—“The Archbishop of Canterbury, he is a friend of our rector's and says—”

—“My Jo! I 'ave such a pig! and I 'ave a bull that—”

—“With skates on! in a frost—”

—“Will win the Derby, I'll back him unless he's—”

—“Dressed as a brigand. Charming! or else as—”

—“A simple sum in arithmetic—”

—“With a red nose—”

—“In the organ-loft. But he objected to—”

—“Cold cream the only thing! put that on first, and then—”

—“You may get within a few yards of the birds, they won't hear you, and when they're—”

—“Paying ten per cent. for your money. Why not leave it—”

—“On the top of your head with a feather—”

—“Or go up in the pulpit before the sermon, as the rector did—”

—“In a transparency; it's easily managed by—”

—“Another tax on the Spanish coupons—” —“And a bath every evening with—”

—“My prize pig—”

—“And three or four fireworks—”

Milburd (decisively). A capital effect! We'll do it!

[The ladies rise. Conversation finishes.]