MRS. M. G. (_still more astonished_). Oh, but I _like_ to hear you. I'm so tired of hearing people pretending to disparage what they have done, it's such a _pose_, and I hate posing. Real genius is _never_ modest. (_If he had been more retiring, she would have, of course, reversed this axiom._) I _wish_ you would come and see me on one of my Tuesdays, MR. TABLETT, I should feel so honoured, and I think you would meet some congenial spirits--do look in some evening--I will send you a card if I may--let me see--could you come and lunch next Sunday? I've got a little man coming who was very nearly eaten up by cannibals. I think _he_ would interest you. MR. T. I shall be proud to meet him. Er--did they eat _much_ of him? MRS. M. G. (_who privately thinks this rather vulgar_). How _witty_ you are! That's quite worthy of--er--_Sabrina_, really! Then you _will_ come? So glad. And now I mustn't keep you from your other admirers any longer. [_She dismisses him._ LATER. MRS. M. G. (_to her_ BROTHER-IN-LAW). How _could_ you say that dear Mr. Tablett was _dull_, Phil? I found him perfectly charming--so original and unconventional! He's promised to come to me. By the way, _what_ did you say the name of his book was? PHIL. _I_ never said he had written a book. MRS. M. G. Phil--you _did_!--_Sabrina's Other--Something._ Why, I've been _praising_ it to him, entirely on your recommendation. PHIL. No, no--_your_ mistake. I only asked you if you'd read _Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece_, and, as I made up the title on the spur of the moment, I should have been rather surprised if you had. _He_ never wrote a line in his life. MRS. M. G. How _abominable_ of you! But surely he's famous for _something_? He talks like it. [_With reviving hope._ PHIL. Oh, yes, he's the inventor and patentee of the new "Sabrina" Soap--he says he'll make a fortune over it. MRS. M. G. But he hasn't even done _that_ yet! PHIL, I'll _never_ forgive you for letting me make such an idiot of myself. What _am_ I to do now? I _can't_ have him coming to me--he's really too impossible! PHIL. Do? Oh, order some of the soap, and wash your hands of him, I suppose--not that he isn't a good deal more presentable than some of your lions, after all's said and done! [MRS. M. G., _before she takes her leave, contrives to inform_ MR. TABLETT, _with her prettiest penitence, that she has only just recollected that her luncheon party is put off, and that her Tuesdays are over for the Season. Directly she returns to Town, she promises to let him hear from her; in the meantime, he is not to think of troubling himself to call. So there is no harm done, after all._ At the Military Tournament. SCENE--_The Agricultural Hall. Tent-pegging going on._