_The Mother of the I. Y. P._ Oh, CAROLINE, _you_'ve got the Catalogue--just see what No. 288 is, there's a dear. It seems to be a country-house, and they're having dinner in the garden, and some of the guests have come late, and without dressing, and there's the hostess telling them it's of no consequence. What's the title--"_The Uninvited Guests_," or "_Putting them at their Ease_," or what? _The I. Y. P._ It only says, _"The Rose-Garden at Ashridge_ (containing portraits of the Earls of PEMBROKE and BROWNLOW, the Countesses of ----"). [_She reads out the list to the end._ _Her Mother._ What a _nice_ picture! Though one would have thought such smart folks wouldn't have come to dinner in riding-boots, and shawls, and things--but of course they can afford to be less particular. And the dessert is beautifully done! IN THE SOUTH ROOM. _The I. Y. P._ Why, here are "_Neptune's Horses" again!_ Don't you remember we saw a picture of them before? But I like this better, because here you get Neptune and his chariot. _Her Mother._ He's made his horses a little too like fish, for my taste. _The I. Y. P._ I suppose they _were_ a sort of fish--and after all, one isn't expected to believe in all that nowadays, is one? So it doesn't really matter. _First Horsey Man._ Tell you what, Old Neptune'll come to awful grief with that turn-out of his in another second. _Second H. M._ Rather--regular bolt--and no ribbons to hold 'em by, either! _First H. M._ Rummy idea, having cockleshells on the traces. _Second H. M._ Oh, I don't know--one of the Hussar regiments has 'em. _First H. M._ Ah, so they have. I suppose that's where he got the idea. [_They go out, feeling that the picture is satisfactorily accounted for._ _The P. P. (before a small canvas)._ Yes, this is the right thing at last. The paper doesn't seem to put it out in the least, and the sort of subject, you know, that _no_ one can object to. I've quite fallen in love with it. I don't care what it costs--I positively _must_ have it. I'm sure the wife will be as fond of it as I am. I only hope it's not sold--here, let's go and see. [_They go._ AT THE SECRETARY'S TABLE. _The P. P. (turning over the priced Catalogue)._ Ah, here it is! It's unsold--it's marked down at--(_his face falls_)--eleven--eleven --that's _rather_ over my limit. (_To his Friend._) Do you mind waiting while I try the paper on it once more? (_His Friend consents; the P. P. returning, after an interval_.) No, I had my doubts from the beginning--it _won't_ do, after all! _His Friend._ But I thought you said the paper didn't put it out? _The P. P._ It doesn't--but the picture takes all the shine out of the paper. _His Friend._ I suppose you couldn't very well change the paper--eh? _The P. P._ Change the paper?--when it's only been up a week, and cost seven-and-six the piece! My _dear_ fellow, what are you talking about? No, no--I must see if I can't get a picture to match it at MAPLE'S, that's all.