_Secretary._ Dear Sir LYON, excuse me, but it's perfectly natural that Ghosts should be a little sensitive on the social question. Remember, for years they were ignored, or looked upon as mountebanks. It is really only of late that there has been all this excitement about them, so it is not surprising they are anxious to be taken seriously. _Sir Lyon._ Well, I suppose I am old-fashioned, but it seems to me quite ridiculous. These infernal Ghosts give themselves as many airs as though they were--the Blue Hungarians, at least. _Secretary._ Ah, from a band we might expect airs. But I should advise you very strongly, Sir _Lyon_, to treat them as friends. You _must_ be up to date. _Sir Lyon_ (_with disgust_). Allow them to dine--perhaps to _dance_--with my guests? _Secretary_ (_with calmness_). Certainly they will have to dine; and, as to dancing, of course they _must_, if they're received on an equal _footing_. [_Smiles to himself at his joke._ _Sir Lyon._ Oh--well--I suppose I must give in. Let them know at once, and for heaven's sake mind they're punctual. [_Scene closes as the Secretary hastily seizes a slate, and automatically writes to the Ghosts a very cordial and courteously-worded invitation._ [Illustration: Dorian Gray taking Juliet in to dinner.] SCENE II.--_New Year's Eve at Latterday Hall. In the magnificent dining-room are seated at dinner a large, well-known, and incongruous company. The Ghosts are chatting away in the most genial manner with the living distinguished people, and positively making the "celebrities" quite "at home."_ DANIEL DERONDA _shows a marked liking for_ DODO, _whom he has taken to dinner, and is indulging in a light and airy flirtation with her, which takes a form peculiar to himself_. _Daniel Deronda_ (_earnestly_). Who has ever pinched into its pilulous smallness the cobweb of matrimonial duty? Honesty is surely the broadest basis of joy in life. _Dodo_ (_a modern Detail in accordion pleating, subject to morbid fits of irrelevant skirt-dancing_). Oh, Mr. DERONDA, what a silly girl I am! I can't bear that proverb about "Honesty being the best policy." It sounds like a sort of life Insurance. [_Giggles contemporarily._ DORIAN GRAY _having taken_ JULIET _to dinner, and not getting on with her very well, is staring with unfeigned horror at_ ROCHESTER, _opposite, who is bullying_ JANE EYRE _to a pitiable extent. Behind him is a screen of gilt Spanish leather, wrought with a rather florid Louis Seize design and encrusted with pearls, moonstones, and large green emeralds_. _Dorian_ (_aside, to_ Young Subaltern, _who has come Home. On leave. For Christmas_). Who _is_ that dreadful man? _Young Subaltern._ Who? Old ROCHESTER? Oh, he's a Plain Hero. From the past. He's all right. How well you're looking! Younger than ever, by Jove! Which is curious. But why that absurd buttonhole?