_Miss Dolman._ Do, Mr. Undershell, please. I do _love_ a good laugh. _Undershell_ (_crimson_). I--you really must excuse me. I said nothing worth repeating. I don't remember that I was particularly---- _Steptoe._ Pardon me. Afraid I was indiscreet. We must spare Miss Phillipson's blushes by all manner of means. _Phillipson._ Oh, it was nothing of _that_ sort, Mr. Steptoe! _I_'ve no objection to repeat what he said. He called me a little green something or other. No; he said _that_ in the train, though. But he would have it that the old cab-horse was a magic steed, and the fly an enchanted chariot; and I don't know what all. (_As nobody smiles._) It sounded awfully funny as _he_ said it, with his face perfectly solemn like it is now, I assure you it did! _Steptoe_ (_patronisingly_). I can readily believe it. We shall have you contributing to some of our yumerous periodicals, Mr. Undershell, sir, before long. Such facetious talent is too good to be lost, it reelly is. _Undershell_ (_to himself, writhing_). I gave her credit for more sense. To make me publicly ridiculous like this! [_He sulks._ _Miss Stickler_ (_to_ M. RIDEVOS, _who suddenly rises_). Mossoo, you're not _going_! Why, whatever's the matter? _M. Ridevos._ Pairmeet zat I make my depart. I am cot at ze art. [_General outcry and sensation._ _Mrs. Pomfret_ (_concerned_). You never mean that, Mossoo? And a nice dish of quails just put on, too, that they haven't even touched upstairs! _M. Ridevos._ It is for zat I do not remmain! Zey 'ave not toch him; my pyramide, result of a genius stupend, énorme! to zem he is nossing; zey retturn him to crash me! To-morrow I demmand zat miladi accept my demission. _Ici je souffre trop!_ [_He leaves the room precipitately._ _Miss Stickler_ (_offering to rise_). It _does_ seem to have upset him! Shall I go after him and see if I can't bring him round? _Mrs. Pomfret_ (_severely_). Stay where you are, Harriet; he's better left to himself. If he wasn't so wropped up in his cookery, he'd know there's always a dish as goes the round untasted, without why or wherefore. I've no _patience_ with the man! _Tredwell_ (_philosophically_). That's the worst of 'aving to do with Frenchmen; they're so apt to beyave with a sutting childishness that--(_checking himself_)--I really ask your pardon, mamsell, I quite forgot you was of his nationality; though it ain't to be wondered at, I'm sure, for you might pass for an Englishwoman almost anywhere! _Mlle. Chiffon._ As you for Frenchman, _hein_? _Tredwell._ No, 'ang it _all_, mamsell, I 'ope there's no danger o' _that_! (_To_ Miss PHILLIPSON.) Delighted to see the Countess keeps as fit as ever, Miss Phillipson! Wonderful woman for her time o' life! Law, she _did_ give the Bishop beans at dinner, and no mistake!