MABEL. How kind they all are to me, except him whose kindness alone I value, and he must take Lady Betty's hand instead of mine; but that is good breeding I suppose. I wish there was no such thing as good breeding in London, any more than in Huntingdonshire. COLANDER (_without, angrily, C. L._) I tell you Mr. Vane is not at home. MABEL. What is the matter? [_Triplet discovered attempting to force his way through L. C. Colander bars his entrance. Triplet carries a portfolio, two volumes, and a roll of manuscript._] COL. I tell you he is not at home, sir. MABEL. How can you say so, when you know he is in the garden. COL. Ugh! (_aside_) the simpleton. MABEL. Show the gentleman in. COL. Gentleman! TRIP. A thousand thanks, madam, for this condescension; I will wait Mr. Vane's leisure in the hall. MABEL. Nay, sir, not in the hall, 'tis cold there. Tell Mr. Vane the gentleman waits. Will you go, sirrah? COL. I am gone, madam. (_Aside_) Porter to players! and now usher to an author! curse me if I stand it. [_Exit L. U. E._ TRIP. (_advancing_). A thousand apologies, madam, for the trouble I put you to. I--madam--you overwhelm me with confusion. MABEL. Nay--nay--be seated. TRIP. Madam, you are too condescending. (_Aside_) Who can she be? (_Bows again and again._) MABEL. Nay, sit down and rest you. (_Triplet bows, and sits on the edge of a chair, with astonishment_). You look sadly adust and tired. TRIP. Why, yes, madam; it is a long way from Lambeth; and the heat is surpassing (_takes his handkerchief out to wipe his brow: returns it somewhat hastily to his pocket_). I beg your pardon, I forgot myself. MABEL (_aside_). Poor man, he looks sadly lean and hungry. And I'll be bound you came in such a hurry, you forgot--you mustn't be angry with me--to have your dinner first. TRIP. How strange! Madam, you have guessed it. I did forget--he, he!--I have such a head--not that I need have forgotten it--but being used to forget it, I did not remember not to forget it to-day (_smiles absurdly_). MABEL (_pours wine_). A glass of wine, sir? TRIP. (_rising and bowing_). Nay, madam (_eyes the wine--drinks_). Nectar, as I am a man. (_She helps him to refreshments_). MABEL. Take a biscuit, sir? TRIP. (_eating_). Madam, as I said before, you overwhelm me. Walking certainly makes one hungry (_eats_). Oh, yes, it certainly does (_Mabel helps him_); and though I do not usually eat at this time of the day. (_Mabel helps him again._) MABEL. I am sorry Mr. Vane keeps you waiting. TRIP. By no means, Madam, it is very fortunate (_eats_)--I mean it procures me the pleasure of (_eats_) your society. Besides, the servants of the Muse are used to waiting. What we are not used to is (_she fills his glass_) being waited on by Hebe and the Twelve Graces, whose health I have the honour!--Falernian, as I'm a poet! MABEL. A poet! (_clapping her hands._) Oh, I am so glad! I never thought to see a living poet; I do so love poetry!