_The Pale-haired Lady_ (_in excellent English, to PODBURY as he
passes out_). Pardon me, you will find close to the Bahnhof a very
goot hotel--the Wurtemburger.

[_PODBURY thanks her and alights in some confusion; the
Lady sinks back, smiling_.

_Culch._ (_annoyed_). She must have understood every word we said! Are
you in earnest over this? (_PODBURY nods grimly_.) Well, you'll soon
get tired of your own society, I warn you.

_Podb._ Thanks, we shall see.

[_He saunters off with his bag: CULCHARD shrugs his
shoulders, and goes in search of the Bayrischer-Hof Porter,
to whom he entrusts his luggage tickets, and takes his seat in
the omnibus alone._

* * * * *

"ANGELS AND MINISTERS OF GRACE!"

["The London Correspondent of the _Manchester Guardian_ hears
that certain ungallant Members of Parliament are threatening
at the beginning of next Session to make a formal protest
against the wholesale admission of ladies to the precincts of
the House."]

Ungallant! Vastly fine! But when they crowd