ARTH. (_looking at COLONEL_). Still asleep! And yet I must awake him (_striking a very loud chord on the piano_). COL. (_pulling handkerchief off his head and sitting bolt upright on couch_). Come in! (_Seeing ARTHUR._) Oh, it's you? For goodness' sake, Arthur, don't make such an infernal noise! Do you want to dislocate that implement of torture? ARTH. Don't you like it, uncle? I thought you were fond of music! COL. You don't call that music, do you? (_getting up from couch_). I accept your friend Fritterly's invitation to his country-house for a few weeks' quiet-- ARTH. Well, you've got it, haven't you? COL. Don't interrupt me (_snappishly_). ARTH. I was merely anticipating-- COL. Who the deuce wants you to anticipate! Take things as I do, and wait till they come round! My idea of a quiet life is to get up at eleven, when the world has been thoroughly aired by that beneficent warming-pan, the sun; next, breakfast at twelve--twelve's a lovely hour for breakfast--have the morning papers all to yourself, and escape being dragged round the grounds like the rest of the visitors--to see the early peas, and the asparagus beds, and spring onions! ARTH. Ha! ha! Well, what next? COL. Breakfast over, a quiet nap; a bit of lunch at three; a heavenly slumber till dinner-time at seven; a cup of coffee, a cigar, and to bed at ten! That's my idea of a rational, peaceful existence! ARTH. You'd better by half shoulder your gun and have a pop at the partridges! COL. Thankee--I never went out with a gun but once in my life, and then I shot a couple of dogs and a game-keeper; so I gave it up; for if I'd gone on as I began, dogs and game-keepers would have been at a premium long before this! ARTH. Ah! it was a bad business for you, uncle, that you didn't take a wife. COL. It would have been a precious deal worse for my wife if I had! ARTH. Well, every one to his taste. What you call existence _I_ call a state of positive torpidity. It may suit _you;_ but at my age a man hungers and thirsts after a little more excitement. COL. Then why the deuce don't you take it? Go out fishing--in the duck-pond--or go and see the cows milked, or the pigs fed; or, better still, here's no end of excitement for you under your very nose. ARTH. Where? COL. At that window (_pointing to window_); gardener always at work rolling the lawn, or watering the flowers, or picking up worms, or killing slugs, and without the slightest fatigue for you; all you have to do is to settle yourself down at the window-- ARTH. Settle down, eh? My dear uncle, that's the very thing I want to do! In a word, Myrtle Vane--Lady Fritterly's sister-- COL. Ugh! The old story over again, eh? Lady Fritterly's sister is a niceish sort of girl-- ARTH. (_indignantly_). Niceish sort of girl! She's an angel! COL. Rubbish! Besides, as I said before, you're too young to marry yet; wait another ten or fifteen years, and then begin to look about you. You haven't popped to her, have you? ARTH. Popped?