Thank you--thank you. [_Sitting before the fire, opening the newspaper, and humming a tune._] Let me see--let me see. Ah, here we are--"Court of Bankruptcy--before the Official Receiver." Lime-house came up again for hearing yesterday. How they bother him! They bothered me in '75. Now, here's a coincidence, Carrie. In 1875 my assets were nil--in 1885 dear old Bob's assets are nil. Now that's deuced funny. MISS DYOTT. Vere, dear, have you forgotten what to-day is? QUECKETT. [_Referring to the head of paper._] December the twenty-second. MISS DYOTT. Yes, but it's the day on which I am to quit my Verey. QUECKETT. Oh, you've stuck to going, then! Well, I daresay you're right, you know. You've a very bad cold. Nothing like change for a bad cold--change of scene, change of pocket-handkerchiefs, and so on. MISS DYOTT. But you don't say anything about your own lonely Christmas. I have married a man who is too unselfish. [_The centre door opens slightly, and the heads of the three girls, Peggy, Gwendoline, and Ermyntrude appear one above the other, spying._] QUECKETT. [_Putting down his paper._] Lonely? By Jove, these inquisitive pupils of yours won't let a fellow be lonely! Upon my soul, they are vexing girls. MISS DYOTT. But they are a source of income, dear. QUECKETT. They are a source of annoyance. I've never had the measles. I've half a mind to catch it and give it to 'em. Now if I could only while away my evenings somewhere, these vexing girls wouldn't so much matter. [_He rises, the heads disappear, and the door closes. Listening._] What was that? MISS DYOTT. The front door, I think. QUECKETT. I thought it might be those vexing girls--they're always prying about. I was going to say, Carrie, why not let me withdraw my resignation at the Junior Amalgamated Club and continue my membership? MISS DYOTT. Ten guineas a year for such an object I cannot afford and will not pay, Vere. QUECKETT. Upon my soul, I might just as well be nobody, the way I'm treated. MISS DYOTT. Oh, my king, don't say that! Have you thought about the Christmas expenses? QUECKETT. Frankly, my dear, I have not. MISS DYOTT. Have you forgotten that my rent is due on Friday? QUECKETT. Completely. MISS DYOTT. And then think--only think of your boots! QUECKETT. Oh, dash it all--what man of any position ever thinks of his boots? [_Producing a letter._] The fact is, Caroline, I have had a note--sent on to me from the club--from my friend, Jack Mallory. He is first-lieutenant on the "Pandora," you know, and just home after four years at Malta. He reached London yesterday, and writes me--[_Reading_] "Now, old chap, do let's have one of our old rollicking nights together, and"-- MISS DYOTT. What! QUECKETT.