After an insipid Prologue, in crude rhyme, the old English city of Bath is shown, in a beautiful picture, and therein is displayed a populous, animated scene, constructed to exhibit as a background the raiment, manners, morals, and pursuits of Bath society, in the butterfly days that Smollett and Sheridan have made immortal. Then the story,--slender and frail but amply adequate for its light purpose,--is rapidly disclosed. _Kitty Bellairs_ will help _Lady Standish_ to bewitch her indifferent husband by making him jealous; and when, through _Kitty’s_ artful roguery, his dangerous wrath is directed against _Lord Verney_, whom she would like to have for her own sweetheart, she will intervene to prevent the impending duel and will implicate herself in a most disastrous and distressing tangle of comic trouble. Two situations ensue that are essentially dramatic and that also involve affecting and enjoyable elements of pathos and humor. _Kitty_ and _Lady Standish_, having proceeded to _Lord Verney’s_ lodging, in hope to avert a catastrophe that their mischief has invoked, are in peril of compromising discovery there, and at the climax _Kitty_ takes upon herself the apparent disgrace and shame by coming forward to shield her friend. Later, in the thronged assembly-room,--in a pageant of almost unprecedented magnificence,--the brilliant _Bellairs_, ostracized by the ladies of Bath, appeals to _Lady Standish_ for vindication and finds that spineless comrade too weak and too timid to speak the truth. The latter incident provides the supreme moment of the comedy, and, however much its probability may be questioned, no spectator of it, adequately acted, will for an instant doubt its theatrical effect. The preparations for it are made with extraordinary skill. The scenic adjuncts to it provided by Belasco were of royal opulence. It is fraught with emotional suspense; it is a sharp surprise, and it has the decisive potentiality of a dramatic act. Later the scene shifts to a Bristol tavern, where _Lady Betty_ makes a tardy explanation, retrieving the wrong, while _Verney_ and _O’Hara_ and the rest of the soldiers march away,--in a storm, most deftly managed (as Belasco showed it), of wind and pouring rain,--and _Sweet Kitty Bellairs_ is left in possession of the field, a little rueful, perhaps, but rehabilitated and triumphant. This close seemed somewhat tame, as a sequel to the ballroom effulgence, but it was inevitable: after the clock has struck twelve it must necessarily strike one. There is no thirteen.