_Und._ (_to himself_). I hoped he didn't know about the Housekeeper's Room! (_Aloud._) Please say no more about it, Sir RUPERT. I know now that you were entirely innocent of any---- _Sir Rup._ (_horrified_). Good Gad! you didn't suppose I had any hand in fixing up that booby trap, or whatever it was, did you? Young fellows will get bear-fighting and playing idiotic tricks on one another, and you seem to have been the victim--that's how it was. Have you had anything to eat since you came? If not---- _Und._ (_hastily_). Thank you, I--I _have_ dined. (_To himself._) So he _doesn't_ know where, after all! I will spare him _that_. _Sir Rup._ Got some food at Shuntingbridge, eh? Afraid they gave you a wretched dinner? _Und._ Quite the reverse, I assure you. (_To himself._) Considering that it came from his own table! _Lady Maisie_ (_in an undertone, to_ Captain THICKNESSE). GERALD, you remember what I said some time ago--about poetry and poets? _Capt. Thick._ Perfectly. And I thought you were quite right. _Lady Maisie._ I was quite _wrong_. I didn't know what I was talking about. I do now. Good night. (_She crosses to_ UNDERSHELL.) Good night, Mr. BLAIR, I'm so very glad we have met--at last! [_She goes._ _Und._ (_to himself, rapturously_). She's _not_ freckled; she's not even sandy. She's lovely! And, by some unhoped for good fortune, all this has only raised me in her eyes. I am more than compensated! _Capt. Thick._ (_to himself_). I may just as well get back to Aldershot to-morrow--_now_. I'll go and prepare Lady C.'s mind, in case. It's hard luck; just when everything seemed goin' right! I'd give somethin' to have the other bard back, I know. It's no earthly use my tryin' to stand against _this_ one! [Illustration: "I'm so very glad--about Emma, you know!"] * * * * * FEMINA DUX FACTI. _The Tumulus, Parliament Hill, Nov. 5._ DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Do not confuse me with a boa-constrictor story. Cursed be he that disturbs my _bona fides_; and the above is my real address. True, the ancient Romans knew me as the Old Pretendress, but let that pass. What I want to know is this. Will _nothing_ check the energy of the L. C. C.?--nothing allay their fever for expurgation? I am not a Promenader. I only ask to lie still. Nor a Living Picture either, and have not been for more than eighteen centuries. Talk of Roman noses! Why their eagle was a chicken compared with the London Carrion Crows! Such a power of scent! It is Guy Fawkes day, and I hear talk of blowing up the Lords. But surely one must draw the line somewhere this side of an insidious exhumation of the Monarchy!