WID. I've ordered the champagne--these opera girls all drink champagne, when they can get it. I wonder is _she_ here still. (_Looks into chamber, R._) Ah, bravo! She's gone. (_Sees the letter on table, C._) Ah, a letter--for me? (_Opens it carelessly, starts, and reads to himself._) Oh, oh, oh! What? (_Reads._) "Mary White--I'm going to drown myself in the water-butt, where you'll find me." Gracious powers! "Adieu, Widgetts, I forgive you." Poor dear soul. "But my ghost, and them lobsters will sit heavy on your stomach to-night." Horrible idea! It can't be true--she'd never go to commit such a catastrophe in my establishment. Make a coroner's inquest of herself in my private water-butt, when the Thames is open to all! No, she's only said so to frighten me. (_Throws letter on the floor and goes to folding-doors._) Why Mary, Mary, my dear, don't be foolish! Ha, ha, ha, ha! I know it's one of your jokes. Ha, ha! Little rogue! Ha! ha! Ha! ha! (_Throws open folding-doors and discovers the dummy figure, which has been dressed in female garments, with the legs and part of the dress sticking out of the water-butt, a pair of women's green boots on the feet of the figure. Widgetts totters back, horrified at the sight._) Oh, oh, oh! She done it. She's there, with her legs sticking out of the water-butt, and her green Sunday boots on her feet--and the vital spark extinct. Oh, it's too dreadful a sight for human feelings them legs, and them green boots. (_Returns, and closes the folding-doors._) What an awful sensation 'twill make when it's found out; they'll have my _head_ in all the print shops, and my _tale_ in all the newspapers--I shall be brought out at half the theatres too. They'll make _three_ shocking acts of one fatal act at the Victoria, and they'll have the real water and water-butt at the Surrey. (_Rises._) What's to be done? I'm in a desperate state of mind, and feel as if I could take my own measure for an unmade coffin. TWILL. (_Who has entered at the last words._) I've ordered it, sir, for nine precisely. WID. (_Starts._) Ordered it? What? TWILL. The fowl and the lobster in the shell. WID. Oh, ha! I was thinking of another _shell_. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Light the lamp, Twill. (_With forced gaiety._) We'll have a jolly night. Ha, ha, ha, ha! "Old King Cole was a jolly old soul, and a jolly old soul was he; He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three." TWILL. Ay, master, that's the way to drown old care. WID. Drown who, sir? Do you mean, sir, that anyone is drowned in this establishment? TWILL. Me, sir, not I, sir--I only----