LUCIAN. Aye, of him. Hast thou forgotten that eventful night When as we gathered were at Hoskyn House To hear a lecture by Herr Abendgasse, He placed a single finger on my chest, And I, ensorceled, would have sunk supine Had not a chair received my falling form. LYDIA. Pooh! That was but by way of illustration. LUCIAN. What right had he to illustrate his point Upon my person? Was I his assistant That he should try experiments on me As Simpson did on his with chloroform? Now, by the cannon balls of Galileo He hath unmanned me: all my nerve is gone. This very morning my official chief, Tapping with friendly forefinger this button, Levelled me like a thunderstricken elm Flat upon the Colonial Office floor. LYDIA. Fancies, coz. LUCIAN. Fancies! Fits! the chief said fits! Delirium tremens! the chlorotic dance Of Vitus! What could any one have thought? Your ruffian friend hath ruined me. By Heaven, I tremble at a thumbnail. Give me drink. LYDIA. What ho, without there! Bashville. BASHVILLE [_without_]. Coming, madam. _Enter_ BASHVILLE LYDIA. My cousin ails, Bashville. Procure some wet. [_Exit_ BASHVILLE. LUCIAN. Some wet!!! Where learnt _you_ that atrocious word? This is the language of a flower-girl. LYDIA. True. It is horrible. Said I "Some wet"? I meant, some drink. Why did I say "Some wet"? Am I ensorceled too? "Some wet"! Fie! fie! I feel as though some hateful thing had stained me. Oh, Lucian, how could I have said "Some wet"? LUCIAN. The horrid conversation of this man Hath numbed thy once unfailing sense of fitness. LYDIA. Nay, he speaks very well: he's literate: Shakespear he quotes unconsciously. LUCIAN. And yet Anon he talks pure pothouse. _Enter_ BASHVILLE BASHVILLE. Sir: your potion. LUCIAN. Thanks. [_He drinks._] I am better. A NEWSBOY [_calling without_]. Extra special _Star_! Result of the great fight! Name of the winner! LYDIA. Who calls so loud? BASHVILLE. The papers, madam. LYDIA. Why? Hath ought momentous happened? BASHVILLE. Madam: yes. [_He produces a newspaper._ All England for these thrilling paragraphs A week has waited breathless. LYDIA. Read them us. BASHVILLE [_reading_]. "At noon to-day, unknown to the police, Within a thousand miles of Wormwood Scrubbs, Th' Australian Champion and his challenger, The Flying Dutchman, formerly engaged I' the mercantile marine, fought to a finish. Lord Worthington, the well-known sporting peer Acted as referee." LYDIA. Lord Worthington!