_Polly_. Now you know you _do_, FLO,--more than I do, if the truth was
known. It's all on your account I called out to him.

_Mr. Hawkins_ (_coming up_). 'Ullo! so _you_'re 'ere, are you?

[_Stands in front of their chairs in an easy attitude. His
friend looks on with an admiring grin in the background,
unintroduced, but quite happy and contented._

_Polly_. Ah, _we_'re 'ere all right enough. 'Ow did _you_ get out?

_Mr. H._ (_his dignity slightly ruffled_). 'Ow did I get out? I'm not
in the 'abit of working Sundays if _I_ know it.

_Polly_. Oh, I thought p'raps _she_ wouldn't let you come out without
'er. (_Mr. H. disdains to notice this insinuation._) Why, how you are
blushing up, FLO! She looks quite nice when she blushes, don't she?

_Mr. H._ (_who is of the same opinion, but considers it beneath him
to betray his sentiments_). Can't say, I'm sure; I ain't a judge of
blushing myself. I've forgotten how it's done.

_Polly_. Ah! I dessay you found it convenient to forget. (_A pause.
Mr. H. smiles in well-pleased acknowledgment of this tribute to his
brazen demeanour._) Did ARTHUR send you a telegraph?--he sent FLO
one. [_This is added with a significance intended to excite Mr. H.'s
jealousy._

_Mr. H._ (_unperturbed_). No; he telegraphed to father, though. He's