_A Wheezy Matron_ (_in a shawl_). She was a prettier byby in the fice than any o' the others--sech a lydylike byby she was--we never 'ad no bother with her! and never, as long as I live, shall I forgit her Grandpa's words when he saw her settin' up in her 'igh cheer at tea, with her little cheeks a marsk o' marmalade. "LOUISER JYNE," he sez, "you mark my words--she's the on'y reelly _nice_ byby you ever 'ad, or _will_ ave!" _Her Comp_. An' he wasn't given to compliments in a general way, neither, _was_ he? _Anxious Mother_. I can't make him out. Sometimes I think he means something, and yet,--Every morning we've been here, he's come up to her on the Pier, and brought her a carnation inside of his 'at. _Her Confidante_. Then depend upon it, my dear, he has intentions. _I_ should say so, certingly! _The Mother_. Ah, but CARRIE tells me she's dropped her glove, accidental-like, over and over again, and he's always picked it up,--and handed it back to her. I reelly don't know what _to_ think! _The Confidante_. Well, I wouldn't lose heart--with the moon drawin' on to the full, as it is! _A Seaside Siren_ (_conscious of a dazzling complexion--to a suburban Ulysses_). I wish I could get brown--I think it's so awfully becoming--but I never can! _Ulysses_. Some people _are_ like that. On'y turn _red_, you know, specially the nose--catches 'em _there_, y'know! _The Siren_. I'm obliged to you, I'm sure! Is that meant to be personal? _Ulysses_. Oh, I wasn't thinking of _you_ when I said that. _The Siren_. You're very complimentary. But do tell me--am _I_ like that? (_She presents her face for his inspection_.) Candidly, now. _Ulysses_ (_conscientiously_). Well, I don't notice anything particular--but, you see, colours don't show up by moonlight. [_The Siren coldly intimates that her Mother will be waiting supper for them._ _An Habitue_. Some people will tell yer, now, that Margit's _vulgar_. They must be precious 'ard to please, that's all! I'm as partickler as what most are, and I can assure yer if there was anythink o' _that_ sort about, I shouldn't come down 'ere reglar, season after season, like I do! _His Companion_. In course not--and no more shouldn't I, neither! _ALONG THE ESPLANADE._ _Female Voice_ (_from the recesses of a glazed shelter_). But if you're on the sands all day, how is it I never _see_ you? _Male Voice_ (_mysteriously_). Would you like to know? Really? You shall. (_With pride_.) I'm one of the Niggers! _Fem. V._ (_deeply impressed_). Not "GUSSIE," or "Uncle ERNIE!" _Male V._ (_with proud superiority_). Not exactly. I conduct, _I_ do--on the 'armonium. _Fern. V._ (_rapturously_). Oh! I 'ad a sort o' feeling, from the very first, that you must be _Somebody_!