towards his divinity, when he is intercepted.

_Mrs. Grappleton_. Mr. BOLDOVER, I do believe you were going to _cut_
me! (_Mr. B. protests and apologises._) Well, _I_ forgive you. I've
been wanting to have another talk with you for ever so long. I've
been thinking so _much_ of what you said that evening about BROWNING'S
relation to Science and the Supernatural. Suppose you take me
downstairs for an ice or something, and we can have it out comfortably
together.

[Dismay of Mr. B., who has entirely forgotten any theories
he may have advanced on the subject, but has no option but to
comply; as he leaves the room with Mrs. GRAPPLETON on his
arm, he has a torturing glimpse of Miss ROUNDARM, apparently
absorbed in her partner's conversation.

_Mr. Senior Roppe_ (_as he waltzes_). Oh, you needn't feel convicted
of extraordinary ignorance, I assure you, Miss FEATHERHEAD. YOU would
be surprised if you knew how many really clever persons have found
that simple little problem of nought divided by one too much for them.
Would you have supposed, by the way, that there is a reservoir in
Pennsylvania containing a sufficient number of gallons to supply all
London for eighteen months? You don't quite realise it, I see. "How
many gallons is that?" Well, let me calculate roughly--taking
the population of London at four millions, and the average daily
consumption for each individual at--no, I can't work it out with
sufficient accuracy while I am dancing; suppose we sit down, and I'll
do it for you on my shirt-cuff--oh, very well; then I'll work it out
when I get home, and send you the result to-morrow, if you will allow
me.