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.
Vere, dear, have you forgotten what to-day is?
[_Referring to the head of paper._] December the twenty-second.
Yes, but it's the day on which I am to quit my Verey.
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.
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._]
[_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.
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?
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?
Ten guineas a year for such an object I cannot afford and will not pay, Vere.
Upon my soul, I might just as well be nobody, the way I'm treated.
Oh, my king, don't say that! Have you thought about the Christmas expenses?
Have you forgotten that my rent is due on Friday?
And then think--only think of your boots!
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"--