Veil, you are a plucky woman; you deserve to be happy zome day. MISS DYOTT. Happy! Think of the deception I am practising upon dear Vere! Think of the people who believe in the rigid austerity of Caroline Dyott, Principal of Volumnia College. Think of the precious confidence reposed in me by the parents and relations of twenty-seven innocent pupils. Give an average of eight and a half relations to each pupil; multiply eight and a half by twenty-seven and you approximate the number whose trust I betray this night! BERNSTEIN. Yes, but tink of the audience you will delight tonight in my Oratorio--I mean my Gomic Opera. Oh, that reminds me. [_Taking out a written paper from a pocket-book._] Here are two new verses of the Bolitical Song for you to commit to memory before this evening. They are extremely goot. MISS DYOTT. _Looking at the paper._ Mr. Bernstein, surely here is a veiled allusion to--yes, I thought so. Oh, the unwarrantable familiarity! I can't--I can't--even vocally allude to a perfect stranger as the Grand Old Man! BERNSTEIN. Oh, now, now--he von't mind dat! MISS DYOTT. But the tendency of the chorus--[_reading_] "Doesn't he wish he may get it!" is opposed to my stern political convictions! Oh, what am I coming to? [_Queckett's voice is heard._] QUECKETT. [_Calling outside._] Caroline! Caroline! MISS DYOTT. Here's Vere! [_Hurriedly to Bernstein._] Goodbye, dear Mr. Bernstein--you understand why I cannot present you. BERNSTEIN. [Bustling.] Good-bye--till to-night. Marks my vord, you vil make a great hit. QUECKETT. [_Calling._] Caroline! MISS DYOTT. [_Unlocking the centre door._] Go--let yourself out. BERNSTEIN. Goot luck to you! MISS DYOTT. [_Opening the door._] Yes, yes. BERNSTEIN. And success to my new Oratorio--I mean my Gomic Opera. MISS DYOTT. Oh, go! [_She pushes him out and closes the door, leaning against it faintly._] QUECKETT. [_Rattling the other door._] I say, Caroline! MISS DYOTT. [_Calling to him._] Is that my darling Vere? QUECKETT. [_Outside._] Yes. [_She comes to the other door, unlocks and opens it. Vere Queckett enters. He is a fresh, breezy, dapper little gentleman of about forty-five, with fair curly hair, a small waxed moustache, and a simple boyish manner. He is dressed in the height of fashion and wears a flower in his coat, and an eyeglass._] QUECKETT. Good-morning, Caroline, good-morning. MISS DYOTT. How is my little pet to-day? [_Kissing his cheek, which he turns to her for the purposed_] Naughty Vere is down later than usual. It isn't my fault, dear, the florist was late in sending my flower. MISS DYOTT. What a shame! QUECKETT. [_Shaking out a folded silk handkerchief._] Oh, by-the-bye, Carrie, I want some fresh perfume in my bottles. MISS DYOTT. My Vere shall have it. QUECKETT.