'ARRY. Ah, but that was ole 'Enery all over, that was; _he_ wasn't one for show. He liked a quiet, unassumin' style of 'at, he did. "None of yer loud pot 'ats for Me!" he'd tell the Royal 'atters; "find me a tile as won't attract people's notice, or you won't want a tile yerselves in another minute!" An' you may take yer oath they served him pretty _sharp_, too! 'ARRIET (_giggling_). It's a pity they didn't ask you to write their Catalogue for 'em. THE AUNT. John, you're not really _looking_ at that needlework--it's Queen Elizabeth's own work, John. Only look how wonderfully fine the stitches are. Ah, she was a truly _great_ woman! I could spend hours over this case alone. What, closing are they, _already_? We must have another day at this together, John--just you and I. JOHN. Yes, Aunt. And now--(_thinks there is just time to call on the_ Chestertons, _if he goes soon_)--can I get you a cab, or put you into a 'bus or anything? HIS AUNT. Not just yet; you must take me somewhere where I can get a bun and a cup of tea first, and then we can go over the Catalogue together, and mark all the things we _missed_, you know. [JOHN _resigns himself to the inevitable rather than offend his wealthy relative_; _the_ INTELLIGENT PERSON _comes out, saying he has had "an intellectual treat" and intends to "run through Froude again" that evening_. 'ARRY _and_ 'ARRIET, _depart to the "Ocean Wave" at Hengler's. Gallery gradually clears as Scene closes in._ In an Omnibus. _The majority of the inside passengers, as usual, sit in solemn silence, and gaze past their opposite neighbours into vacancy. A couple of Matrons converse in wheezy whispers_. FIRST MATRON. Well, I must say a bus is pleasanter riding than what they used to be not many years back, and then so much cheaper, too. Why you can go all the way right from here to Mile End Road for threepence! SECOND MATRON. What, all that way for threepence--(_with an impulse of vague humanity_). The _poor_ 'orses! FIRST MATRON. Ah, well, my dear, it's Competition, you know,--it don't do to think too much of it. CONDUCTOR (_stopping the bus_). Orchard Street, Lady! [_To_ SECOND MATRON, _who had desired to be put down there_. SECOND MATRON (_to_ CONDUCTOR). Just move on a few doors further, opposite the boot-shop. (_To_ FIRST MATRON.) It will save us walking. CONDUCTOR. Cert'inly, Mum, we'll drive in and wait while you're tryin' 'em on, if you like--_we_ ain't in no 'urry! [_The_ MATRONS _get out, and their places are taken by two young girls, who are in the middle of a conversation of thrilling interest_. FIRST GIRL. I never liked her myself--ever since the way she behaved at his Mother's that Sunday. SECOND GIRL. How _did_ she behave? [_A faint curiosity is discernible amongst the other passengers to learn how she--whoever she is--behaved that Sunday._ FIRST GIRL. Why, it was you _told_ me! You remember. That night Joe let out about her and the automatic scent fountain.