And if I finds it satisfact'ry, Mum,
Why, s'elp me, I 'ave arf a mind to come.
_Third Lady_. My last good lady left six months ago
Because she said I'd singed the _soufflé_ so;
She gave me no address to write to--
_Super-Char_. What!
You've got no reference?
_Third Lady_. Alas, I've not!
_Super-Char_. Of course I could not dream of taking you
Without one, so there's nothing more to do.
These women--'ow they spoil one's temper! Pah!
Hi! (_she hails a passing taxi_) Drive me to the nearest cinema.
[_She steps into the taxi and is whirled off._

_Chorus of Ladies._

Not yet the consolation
Of manicure and cream;
Not yet the barber dresses
Our dusty tousled tresses;
The thought of titivation
Is still a distant dream;
Not yet the consolation
Of manicure and cream.

Still, still, with vim and vigour,
'Tis ours to scour and scrub;
With rag and metal polish
The dirt we must demolish;
Still, still, with toil-bowed figure,