A Story in Scenes.

Scene V.—The Dining-room; walls distempered chocolate; gaselier with opal-tinted globes; two cast-iron Cavaliers holding gas-lamps on the mantel-piece. Oil-portrait, enlarged from photograph, of Mrs. Tidmarsh, over side-board; on other walls, engravings—"Belshazzar's Feast," "The Wall of Wailing at Jerusalem," and DorÉ's "Christian Martyrs." The guests have just sat down; Lord Strathsporran is placed between Miss Seaton and his hostess, and opposite Mr. Gilwattle.

Lord Strath. (to himself). Deuced quaint-looking people—wish they wouldn't all eat their soup at me! Why can't somebody say something? Wonder who's the Lady in black, all over big silver tears—like a foreign funeral. Don't feel equal to talking to Marjory again till I've had some Sherry. (After sipping it.) Wormwood, by Jove! Champagne will probably be syrup—touch old Gilwattle up if he isn't careful—ah, he jibs at the Sherry!

Uncle Gab. Where the dickens did Monty get this stuff, Maria? Most 'strordinary bitter taste!

Mrs. Tid. (to herself, in an agony). I knew that bottle of Gwennie's Quinine Wine had got down into the cellar somehow! (Aloud.) Don't drink it, Uncle, please, if it isn't quite what you like!

Uncle Gab. I'll take his Lordship's opinion. What do you think of this Sherry, my Lord? Don't you find it rather—eh?

Lord Strath. (observing his hostess frown at him imperiously). Oh, excellent, Sir—very—er—mellow and agreeable!

Uncle Gab. Ha—yes—now your Lordship mentions it, there's a sort of nuttiness about it.

[He empties his glass.

Lord Strath. (to himself). There is—a rotten-nuttiness! I'm hanged if he hasn't bolted it! Wonderful old Johnny!

Mrs. Tid. (to him, in an under-tone). You said quite the right thing!

Lord Strath. (ambiguously). Oh, not at all!

[Turbot and lobster-sauce are taken round, and conversation becomes general.

Conversational Scraps. Assure you if I touch the smallest particle of lobster it instantly flies to my.... Yes, alive. A dear friend of mine positively had to leave her lodgings at the seaside—she was so disturbed by the screams of the lobsters being boiled in the back-kitchen.... I was reading only the other day that oysters' hearts continue to beat down to the very moment they are being assimilated.... What they must suffer, poor dears! Couldn't there be a law that they should only be eaten under chloroform, or something?... I never get tired of turbot—cod, now, I don't care for, and salmon I like—but I can't digest—why, is more than I can tell you.—(&c.)

Miss Seaton. (to herself.) To see Douglas here a—a paid parasite—and actually seeming to enjoy his food—it's like some dreadful nightmare—I can't believe it! But I'm glad he hasn't the face to speak to me!

Lord Strath. (to Seakale offering Hock.) If you please. (To himself, after tasting.) Why, it's quite decent! I begin to feel up to having this out with Marjory. (Aloud.) Miss Seaton, isn't it rather ridiculous for two such old friends as we are to sit through dinner in deadly silence? Can't you bring yourself to talk to me? we shan't be overheard. You might tell me why you think me such a ruffian—it would start us, at any rate!

Miss Seaton. I don't want to be started—and if you really don't know why I hate your coming here in this way, Lord Strathsporran, it's useless to explain!

Lord Strath. Oh, we got as far as that upstairs, didn't we? And I may be very dense, but for the life of me I can't see yet why I shouldn't have come! Of course, I didn't know I was in for this exactly, but, to tell you the truth, I'm by way of being here on business, and I didn't care much whether they were cheery or not, so long as I got what I came for, don't you know!

Miss Seaton. Of course, that is the main thing in your eyes—but I didn't think you would confess it!

Lord Strath. Why, you know how keen I used to be about my Egyptian work—you remember the book on Hieroglyphs I always meant to write? I'm getting on with it, though of course my time's a good deal taken up just now. And, whether I get anything out of these people or not, I've met you again, Marjory—I don't mind anything else!

Miss Seaton. Don't remind me of—of what you used to be, and—and you are not to call me Marjory any more. We have met—and I only hope and pray we may never meet again. Please don't talk any more!

Lord Strath. (to himself.) That's a facer! I wonder if Marjory's quite—is this the effect of that infernal influenza?

Mrs. Tid. (to him in an under-tone). You and Miss Seaton appear to be on very familiar terms. I really feel it my duty to ask you when and how you made the acquaintance of my daughter's governess.

Lord Strath. (to himself). The governess! That explains a lot. Poor little Marjory! (Aloud.) Really? I congratulate you. I had the honour of knowing Miss Seaton in Scotland a year or two ago, and this is the first time we have met since.

Mrs. Tid. Indeed? That is so far satisfactory. I hope you will understand that, so long as Miss Seaton is in my employment, I cannot allow her to—er—continue your acquaintanceship—it is not as if you were in a position——

Lord Strath. (with suppressed wrath.) Forgive me—but, as Miss Seaton shows no desire whatever to renew my acquaintance, I don't see that we need discuss my position, or hers either. And I must decline to do so.

Mrs. Tid. (crimsoning.) Oh, very well. I am not accustomed to be told what subjects I am to discuss at my own table, but (scathingly) no doubt your position here gives you the right to be independent—ahoo!

Lord Strath. I venture to think so. (To himself.) Can't make this woman out—is she trying to be rude, or what?

Uncle Gab. Hullo, your Lordship's got no Champagne! How's that? It's all right—"Fizzler, '84," my Lord!

Lord Strath. I daresay—but the fact is, I am strictly forbidden to touch it.

Uncle Gab. Pooh!—if your Lordship will excuse the remark—this won't do you any harm—comes out of my own cellar, so I ought to know. (To Seakale.) Here, you, fill his Lordship's glass, d'ye hear?

Mrs. Tid. (in a rapid whisper.) Don't make a fuss—you can take one glass as he wishes it!

Lord Strath. (to himself.) Can I though? If she imagines I'm going to poison myself to please her uncle! (Seakale gives him half a glass, after receiving a signal from Mrs. T.) I suppose I must just——(After tasting.) Why it's dry! Then why the deuce was I cautioned not to——?

Uncle Gab. That's a fine wine, isn't it, my Lord? Not much of that in the market nowadays, I can tell you!

Lord Strath. (to himself.) Precious little here. (Aloud.) So I should imagine, Sir.

Uncle Gab. Your Lordship mustn't pass this entrÉe. My niece's cook knows her business, I will say that for her.

Lord Strath. (as he helps himself.) I have already discovered that she is an artist.

Mrs. Tid. (in displeased surprise.) Then you know my cook too? An artist? and she seems such a respectable person! Pray what sort of pictures does she paint?

Lord Strath. Pictures? Oh, really I don't know—potboilers probably.

[Mrs. Tid. glares at him suspiciously.

Conversational Scraps. And when I got into the hall and saw them all sitting in a row with their faces blacked, I said "I'm sure they can't be the Young Men's Christian Association!"... Hysteria? my poor dear wife is a dreadful sufferer from it—I've known her unable to sleep at all except with one foot curled round her neck!... (&c. &c.)

Lord Strath. (to himself.) There's no doubt about it—this woman is trying to snub me—hardly brings herself to talk at all—and then she's beastly rude! What did she ask me here for if she can't be civil! If she wasn't my hostess—I'll try her once more, she may know something about antiquities—(Aloud.) I suppose Mr. Cartouche keeps his collection in a separate room? I was told he has some hunting scarabs of the Amenhoteps that I am very curious to see.

Mrs. Tid. (stiffly). Mr. Cartouche may keep all sorts of disagreeable pets, for anything I know to the contrary.

Lord Strath. (to himself, in amazement). Pets! I'm hanged if I let myself be snubbed like this! (Aloud.) I'm afraid you have very little sympathy with his tastes?

Mrs. Tid. Sympathy, indeed! I don't even know if he has any tastes. I am not in the habit of troubling myself about my next-door neighbour's affairs.

Lord Strath. (with a gasp). Your next-door——! (He pulls himself together.) To be sure—of course not—stupid of me to ask! (To himself.) Good Heavens!—these aren't the Cartouches! I'm at the wrong dinner-party—and this awful woman thinks I've done it on purpose! No wonder she's so confoundedly uncivil!... And Marjory knows it, too, and won't speak to me! Perhaps they all know it.... What on earth am I to do?... I feel such a fool!

Miss Seaton (to herself). How perfectly ghastly Douglas is looking! Didn't he really know the Cartouches lived next door?... Then—oh, what an idiot I've been! It's a mistake—he doesn't come from Blankley's at all! I must speak to him—I must tell him how——no, I can't—I forgot how horrid I've been to him! I should have to tell him I believed that—and I'd rather die! No, it's too late—it's too late now!

[Miss Seaton and Lord Strathsporran sit regarding the tablecloth with downcast eyes, and expressions of the deepest gloom and confusion.

(End of Scene V.)