L'ENVOI And they were stronger hands than mine That digged the Ruby from the earth-- More cunning brains that made it worth The large desire of a King; And bolder hearts that through the brine Went down the Perfect Pearl to bring. Lo, I have made in common clay Rude figures of a rough-hewn race; For Pearls strew not the market-place In this my town of banishment, Where with the shifting dust I play And eat the bread of Discontent. Yet is there life in that I make,-- Oh Thou who knowest, turn and see, As Thou hast power over me, So I have power over these, Because I wrought them for Thy sake, And breathed in them mine agonies. Small mirth was in the making. Now I lift the cloth that clokes the clay, And, wearied, at Thy feet I lay My wares ere I go forth to sell. The long _bazar_ will praise--but Thou-- Heart of my heart, have I done well? POOR DEAR MAMMA The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky, The deer to the wholesome wold, And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid, As it was in the days of old. _Gypsy Song._ SCENE.--_Interior of_ MISS MINNIE THREEGAN'S _bedroom at Simla._ MISS THREEGAN, _in window-seat, turning over a drawerful of things._ MISS EMMA DEERCOURT, _bosom-friend, who has come to spend the day, sitting on the bed, manipulating the bodice of a ballroom frock and a bunch of artificial lilies of the valley_. _Time,_ 5.30 P. M. _on a hot May afternoon._ MISS DEERCOURT. And _he_ said: 'I shall _never_ forget this dance,' and, of course, I said: 'Oh! how _can_ you be so silly!' Do you think he meant anything, dear? MISS THREEGAN. (_Extracting long lavender silk stocking from the rubbish._) You know him better than _I_ do. MISS D. Oh, _do_ be sympathetic, Minnie! I'm _sure_ he does. At least I _would_ be sure if he wasn't always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan. MISS T. I suppose so. How _does_ one manage to dance through one's heels first? Look at this--isn't it shameful? (_Spreads stocking-heel on open hand for inspection_) MISS D. Never mind that! You can't mend it. Help me with this hateful bodice, I've run the string _so_, and I've run the string _so_, and I can't make the fulness come right. Where would you put this? (_Waves lilies of the valley._) MISS T. As high up on the shoulder as possible. MISS D. Am I quite tall enough? I know it makes May Olger look lop-sided. MISS T. Yes, but May hasn't your shoulders. Hers are like a hock-bottle. BEARER. (_Rapping at door._) Captain Sahib _aya._ MISS D. (_Jumping up wildly, and hunting for body, which she has discarded owing to the heat of the day._) Captain Sahib! What Captain Sahib? Oh, good gracious, and I'm only half dressed! Well, I shan't bother. MISS T. (_Calmly._) You needn't. It isn't for us. That's Captain Gadsby. He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes five days out of the seven.