[Illustration: "Signals to Portia that it is not such an amusing game as he thought."] A mimic battle takes place on a bridge--i.e., rival factions shake their fists with prudent defiance over one another's shoulders. (_An Old Lady in the Balcony, who has been watching this desperate encounter, finds that she has missed a very important Scene between_ Shylock _and_ Jessica _at the other end of the stage, and remorsefully resolves to be more observant in future, as the Scene changes to "Portia's Palatial Home."_) _Portia_ enters (_the Lady in the Stalls, who has been here before, tells her companion that_ Portia's _dress was "lovely when it was clean_"), and greets her guests by extending both arms and inviting them to inspect the palms of her hands, thereby intimating that the abundance of canopied recesses, and the absence of any furniture to sit down upon, is due to the fact that the apartment has been recently cleared for a parlour game. The company express a well-bred gratification by bowing. Enter the _Prince of Morocco (who is of course identified by various Spectators in the Stalls without Catalogues as_ "Othello," _or "the Duke of Thingumbob_--you _know the chap I mean_"), followed by his retinue; he kisses _Portia's_ hand, as she explains to him, the _Prince of Arragon_, and _Bassanio_, the rules of the game in three simple gestures. They reply, by flourishes, that they have frequently played it at home, and promise faithfully not to cheat. The three caskets are brought in and placed on a table; the _Prince of Morocco_ is the first player, and walks towards them very slowly, stopping at every ten paces and signalling to _Portia_ that he is all right so far, and that she is not to be at all uneasy on his account. On coming in sight of the caskets, he pauses and turns to the audience, as if it had only just occurred to him that the odds were two to one against him, and he must be careful. Presently he jerks his right arm above his head and strikes his forehead, to indicate a happy thought, rushes at the golden casket, opens it, and slams the lid disgustedly. After which he signals to _Portia_ that it is not such an amusing game as he thought, and he doesn't mean to play any more, beckons to his retinue and goes off, throwing his cloak over his shoulder with a gesture of manly and not unnatural annoyance. The _Prince of Arragon_ tries the silver casket next, with similar unsuccess. Then _Bassanio_--with an elaborate pretence of uncertainty, considering he can hardly have helped witnessing the proceedings--advances to the caskets, in front of which he performs a little mental calculation, finally arriving at the conclusion that, as the portrait is not in the gold and silver boxes, it may not improbably be in the leaden one. He actually _does_ find it there, and exhibits it to _Portia_ with extreme astonishment, as if it was quite the _last_ thing he expected. Then he advances to meet her, comparing