[_Fausse sortie No. 2._

_Polly_ (_persuasively_). 'Ere, stop! I want to speak to you. Is your
girl here?

_Mr. H._ (_glad of this opportunity_). My girl? I ain't got no girl. I
don't believe in 'em--a lot of--

_Polly_ (_interrupting_). A lot of what? Go on--don't mind _us_.

_Mr. H._ It don't matter. _I_ know what they are.

_Polly_. But you like Miss PINKNEY, though,--at the shop in Queen's
Road,--_you_ know.

_Mr. H._ (_by way of proclaiming his indifference_). Miss PINKNEY? She
ought to be Mrs. SOMEBODY by this time,--she's getting on for thirty.

_Polly_. Ah, but she don't look it, does she: not with that lovely
coloured 'air and complexion? You knew she painted, I dessay? She
don't look--well, not more than thirty-two, at the outside. She
spends a lot on her 'air, I know. She sent our GEORGY one day to the
'air-dresser's for a bottle of the stuff she puts on, and the barber
sez: "What, do _you_ dye your 'air?" To little _GEORGY_! fancy!

_Mr. H._ Well, she may dye herself magenter for all I care. (_Changing
the subject._) ARTHUR's found a lot of old friends at Melbun,--first
person he come upon was a policeman as used to be at King Street; and
you remember that Miss LAVENDER he used to go out with? (_Speaking at_