CINDERELLA (_stung_). So is everybody (_pathetically_). I’ve tried. But it’s none so easy, with never no butcher’s meat in the house. You’ll see where the su-perb shoulders and the haughty manners come from if you look in shop windows and see the whole of a cow turned inside out and ‘Delicious’ printed on it. POLICEMAN (_always just_). There’s something in that. CINDERELLA (_swelling_). But it doesn’t matter how fine the rest of you is if you doesn’t have small feet. POLICEMAN. I never gave feet a thought. CINDERELLA. The swells think of nothing else. (_Exploding._) Wait till you are at the Ball. Many a haughty beauty with superb uppers will come sailing in—as sure of the prize as if ‘Delicious’ was pinned on her—and then forward steps the Lord Mayor, and, _utterly disregarding her uppers_, he points to the bottom of her skirt, and he says ‘Lift!’ and she _has_ to lift, and there’s a dead silence, and nothing to be heard except the Prince crying ‘Throw her out!’ POLICEMAN (_somewhat staggered by her knowledge of the high life_). What’s all this about a ball? (CINDERELLA _sees she has said too much and her mouth shuts_.) Was you ever at a ball? CINDERELLA (_with dignity_). At any rate I’ve been at the Horse Show. POLICEMAN. A ball’s not like a Horse Show. CINDERELLA. You’ll see. POLICEMAN (_reverting to business_). It all comes to this, are you genteel, or common clay? CINDERELLA (_pertly_). I leaves that to you. POLICEMAN. You couldn’t leave it in safer hands. I want a witness to this. CINDERELLA (_startled_). A witness! What are you to do? (_With terrible self-confidence he has already opened the door and beckoned._ MR. BODIE _comes in anxiously_.) POLICEMAN. Take note, sir. (_With the affable manner of a conjuror._) We are now about to try a little experiment, the object being to discover whether this party is genteel or common clay. CINDERELLA. Oh, Mr. Bodie, what is it? BODIE (_remembering what he has been told of the Scotland Yard test_). I don’t like.... I won’t have it. POLICEMAN. It gives her the chance of proving once and for all whether she’s of gentle blood. CINDERELLA (_eagerly_). Does it? BODIE. I must forbid.... CINDERELLA (_with dreadful resolution_). I’m ready. I wants to know myself. POLICEMAN. _Ve_—ry well. Now then, I heard you say that the old party downstairs had paid you your wages to-day. CINDERELLA. I see nothing you can prove by that. It was a half-week’s wages—1s. 7d. Of course I could see my way clearer if it had been 1s. 9d. POLICEMAN. That’s neither here nor there. We’ll proceed. Now, very likely you wrapped the money up in a screw of paper. Did you? (_She is afraid of giving herself away._) Thinking won’t help you. CINDERELLA. It’s _my_ money. BODIE. Nobody wants your money, Cinderella. POLICEMAN. Answer me. Did you? CINDERELLA. Yes. POLICEMAN. Say ‘I did.’ CINDERELLA. I did.