_Mopsa_ (_gently_). I know, dear. But that was before----. Let me tell you something. (_Slow music;_ ALFRED _sits down, cautiously_.) I've just been looking through my big portfolio, and I've discovered--what _do_ you think? (ALFRED _shakes his head hopelessly_.) I'm not KAIA'S daughter at all, really. I'm only adopted! _Alfred._ But what difference does that make in _our_ relations? Practically, none whatever! _Mopsa._ _All_ the difference, ALFRED. I always pursued you about with reluctance and under protest. Being, as I supposed, descended from KAIA FOSLI, and related to REBECCA WEST, it seemed so utterly the right thing to do. But I know _now_ that I am nothing of the sort, and that if my real mother ever possessed such a thing as a Past at all, it was Plu-perfect. So heredity doesn't come in, and, rather than interfere between you and poor dear SPRETA, I have decided to go right away and never see you again. I really _mean_ it, _this_ time! [_She opens her umbrella and runs off up the slope._ _Alfred_ (_takes up his hat sadly_). Isn't this play going to end pessimistically after all, then? (_Shudders._) Are we actually going to be--moral? (_More hopefully._) After all, there's another Act left. There's a chance still! [_He follows hastily after_ MOPSA. * * * * * MOTTO FOR THE PRESIDENT OF THE FRENCH REPUBLIC.--"Faure-warned, Faure-armed." * * * * * [Illustration: TOO MUCH. (_Pity the Sorrows of a poor Hunting Man!_) _Sportsman_ (_suffering from intense aberration of mind in consequence of the Weather, in reply to Wife of his bosom_). "PUT OUT? WHY, O' COURSE I'M PUT OUT. BEEN JUST THROUGH THE VILLAGE, AND HANG ME IF AT LEAST HALF A DOZEN FOOLS HAVEN'T TOLD ME THAT IT'S NICE SEASONABLE WEATHER!"] * * * * * RETRIBUTION. (_Wrought by a cheap Foreign Cigar._) I'm feeling--great heavens!--all sixes and sevens, And dizzy, and giddy, and green; Knocked flat as a pancake, I've got a blank, blank ache All over--a sight to be seen! Alas! for the reason 'tis easy to seize on-- The same I'll proceed to relate:-- I've just come from Brussels, whence, after some tussles With conscience, I rushed to my fate. For by Calais and Dover I safely brought over A contraband hatful of weeds; Ah, why did I struggle to juggle and smuggle, Thus paying the price for my deeds? They cost each five farthings, and goodness! they _are_ things You'd not get your worst foe to smoke, This "Cabbagio Fino" _has_ giv'n me a beano-- But there! I'm too seedy to joke! So this crude composition I pen in contrition, My state of collapse to explain; I thought to be clever, but never, oh never, Will make such a bargain again! * * * * *