_Mr. Boldover_ (_glancing eagerly round the room as he enters, and soliloquizing mentally_). She ought to be here by this time, if she's coming--can't see her though--she's certainly not dancing. There's her sister over there with the mother. She _hasn't_ come, or she'd be with them. Poor-looking lot of girls here to-night--don't think much of this music--get away as soon as I can, no _go_ about the thing!... Hooray! There she is, after all! Jolly waltz this is they're playing! How pretty she's looking--how pretty _all_ the girls are looking! If I can only get her to give me one dance, and sit out most of it somewhere! I feel as if I could talk to her to-night. By Jove, I'll try it! [Watches his opportunity, and is cautiously making his way towards his divinity, when he is intercepted. _Mrs. Grappleton_. Mr. BOLDOVER, I do believe you were going to _cut_ me! (_Mr. B. protests and apologises._) Well, _I_ forgive you. I've been wanting to have another talk with you for ever so long. I've been thinking so _much_ of what you said that evening about BROWNING'S relation to Science and the Supernatural. Suppose you take me downstairs for an ice or something, and we can have it out comfortably together. [Dismay of Mr. B., who has entirely forgotten any theories he may have advanced on the subject, but has no option but to comply; as he leaves the room with Mrs. GRAPPLETON on his arm, he has a torturing glimpse of Miss ROUNDARM, apparently absorbed in her partner's conversation. _Mr. Senior Roppe_ (_as he waltzes_). Oh, you needn't feel convicted of extraordinary ignorance, I assure you, Miss FEATHERHEAD. YOU would be surprised if you knew how many really clever persons have found that simple little problem of nought divided by one too much for them. Would you have supposed, by the way, that there is a reservoir in Pennsylvania containing a sufficient number of gallons to supply all London for eighteen months? You don't quite realise it, I see. "How many gallons is that?" Well, let me calculate roughly--taking the population of London at four millions, and the average daily consumption for each individual at--no, I can't work it out with sufficient accuracy while I am dancing; suppose we sit down, and I'll do it for you on my shirt-cuff--oh, very well; then I'll work it out when I get home, and send you the result to-morrow, if you will allow me. _Mr. Culdersack_ (_who has provided himself beforehand with a set of topics for conversation--to his partner, as they halt for a moment_). Er--(_consults some hieroglyphics on his cuff stealthily_)--have you read STANLEY'S book yet? _Miss Tabula Raiser_. No, I haven't. Is it interesting? _Mr. Culdersack_. I can't say. I've not seen it myself. Shall we--er--? [They take another turn. _Mr. C._ I suppose you have--er--been to the (_hesitates between the Academy and the Military Exhibition--decides on latter topic as fresher_) Military Exhibition?