‘To all and singular,’ as Dryden says, We bring a fancy of those Georgian days, Whose style still breathed a faint and fine perfume Of old-world courtliness and old-world bloom: When speech was elegant and talk was fit For slang had not been canonised as wit; When manners reigned, when breeding had the wall, And Women—yes!—were ladies first of all; When Grace was conscious of its gracefulness, And man—though Man!—was not ashamed to dress. A brave formality, a measured ease, Were his—and her’s—whose effort was to please. And to excel in pleasing was to reign And, if you sighed, never to sigh in vain. But then, as now—it may be, something more— Woman and man were human to the core. The hearts that throbbed behind that quaint attire Burned with a plenitude of essential fire. They too could risk, they also could rebel, They could love wisely—they could love too well. In that great duel of Sex, that ancient strife Which is the very central fact of life, They could—and did—engage it breath for breath, They could—and did—get wounded unto death. As at all times since time for us began Woman was truly woman, man was man, And joy and sorrow were as much at home In trifling Tunbridge as in mighty Rome. Dead—dead and done with! Swift from shine to shade The roaring generations flit and fade. To this one, fading, flitting, like the rest, We come to proffer—be it worst or best— A sketch, a shadow, of one brave old time; A hint of what it might have held sublime; A dream, an idyll, call it what you will, Of man still Man, and woman—Woman still! ACT I. MUSICAL INDUCTION: ‘_Lascia ch’io pianga_’ (_Rinaldo_). HANDEL. _The Stage represents Miss Foster’s apartments at the Wells_. _Doors_, _L. and C._; _a window_, _L. C._, _looking on the street_; _a table R._, _laid for breakfast_. SCENE I BARBARA; _to her_ MISS FOSTER BARBARA (_out of window_). Mr. Menteith! Mr. Menteith! Mr. Menteith!—Drat his old head! Will nothing make him hear?—Mr. Menteith! MISS FOSTER (_entering_). Barbara! this is incredible: after all my lessons, to be leaning from the window, and calling (for unless my ears deceived me, you were positively calling!) into the street. BARBARA. Well, madam, just wait until you hear who it was. I declare it was much more for Miss Dorothy and yourself than for me; and if it was a little countrified, I had a good excuse. MISS FOSTER. Nonsense, child! At least, who was it? BARBARA. Miss Evelina, I was sure you would ask. Well, what do you think? I was looking out of window at the barber’s opposite— MISS FOSTER. Of which I entirely disapprove— BARBARA. And first there came out two of the most beautiful—the Royal livery, madam!