_Mr. H._ (_surveying her with frank disparagement_). _You_? Oh, lor! Not if I know it! _Flo_ (_with an exaggerated sigh_). Oh dear, I wish I was over there. They say they're advertising for maidservants--fifteen shillings a week, and the washing put out. I'd marry a prince or a lord duke, perhaps, when I got there. ARTHUR sent me a fashion-book. _Mr. H._ So he sent me one, too. It was the Autumn fashions. They get their Autumn in the Spring out there, you know, and their Christmas Day comes in the middle of July. Seems rum, doesn't it? _Flo_. He sent me his photo, too. He _has_ improved. _Polly_. You go out there, ERNIE, and p'raps _you_'ll improve. [_FLO giggles._ _Mr. H._ (_hurt_). There, that's enough--good-bye. [_Fausse sortie No. 2._ _Polly_ (_persuasively_). 'Ere, stop! I want to speak to you. Is your girl here? _Mr. H._ (_glad of this opportunity_). My girl? I ain't got no girl. I don't believe in 'em--a lot of-- _Polly_ (_interrupting_). A lot of what? Go on--don't mind _us_. _Mr. H._ It don't matter. _I_ know what they are. _Polly_. But you like Miss PINKNEY, though,--at the shop in Queen's Road,--_you_ know. _Mr. H._ (_by way of proclaiming his indifference_). Miss PINKNEY? She ought to be Mrs. SOMEBODY by this time,--she's getting on for thirty. _Polly_. Ah, but she don't look it, does she: not with that lovely coloured 'air and complexion? You knew she painted, I dessay? She don't look--well, not more than thirty-two, at the outside. She spends a lot on her 'air, I know. She sent our GEORGY one day to the 'air-dresser's for a bottle of the stuff she puts on, and the barber sez: "What, do _you_ dye your 'air?" To little _GEORGY_! fancy! _Mr. H._ Well, she may dye herself magenter for all I care. (_Changing the subject._) ARTHUR's found a lot of old friends at Melbun,--first person he come upon was a policeman as used to be at King Street; and you remember that Miss LAVENDER he used to go out with? (_Speaking at_ FLO.) Well, her brother was on board the steamer he went in. _Polly_. It's all right, FLO, ain't it? so long as it wasn't Miss LAVENDER herself! (_To Mr. H._) I say, ain't you got a moustarsh comin'! _Mr. H._ (_wounded for the third time_). That'll do. I'm off this time! [_The devoted ALF once more prepares for departure._ _Polly_. All right! Tell us where you'll be, and we may come and meet you. I daresay we shall find you by the Outer Circle,--where the children go when they get lost. I say, ERNIE, look what a short frock that girl's got on. _Mr. H._ (_lingering undecidedly_). I don't want to look at no girls, I tell you. _Polly_. What, can't you see _one_ you like,--not out of all this lot? _Mr. H._ Not one. Plenty of 'ARRIETS! [_Scornfully._ _Flo._ Ah! and 'ARRIES too. There's a girl looking at you, ERNIE; do turn round. _Mr. H._ (_loftily_). I'm sure I shan't look at _her_, then. I expected a cousin of mine would ha' turned up here by now.