_Podb._ Oh, beg pardon, didn't see you, old fellow. Awfully obliged;
jam it down anywhere, and (_whispering_) I say, I want to introduce
you to--

_Culch._ (_in a tone of emphatic disapproval_). You must really excuse
me, as I fear I should be scarcely a congenial spirit in such a party.
So good night--or, rather--er--good-bye. [_He withdraws._

_Miss Hypatia P._ (_just as C. is about to close the door_). Please
don't stop, Mr. PODBURY, that song is quite too deliciously inane!

[_CULCHARD turns as he hears the voice, and--too
late--recognises his Athene of that afternoon. He retires in
confusion, and, as he passes under the window, hears PODBURY
sing the final verse._

The moral is--Now _don't_ you come from Fla-an-ders,
If you should have complexions rich and rare;
And don't you go and catch the yaller ja-aun-ders,
Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square!

_Miss Hypatia P._ (_in a clear soprano_). "Nor yet know girls in
Canonbury Square!"

[_CULCHARD passes on, crushed._

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE STERNER SEX!