_He_. Rippin'! But what the mischief have you got on your shoulder?

_She_. Oh, that's an aquarium--real goldfish. See!

[_Exhibiting them with pride._

_He_. Ain't you lettin' 'em sit up rather late? They _will_ be chippy
to-morrow--off colour, don't you know.

_She_. Will they? What ought I to do for them, then?

_He_. Do? Oh, just put a brandy-and-soda in their tank.

_Later; Supper is going on in the Boxes and Supper-room, and
the festivity has been further increased by the arrival of a
party of Low Comedians and Music-Hall Stars. The Lancers have
been danced with more abandonment, and several entirely new
and original figures._

_The Chevalier Bayard_ (_at the Refreshment Bar--to a Watteau
Shepherdess_). I say, you come along and dance with me, will you?--and
look here, if you dance well, I'll give you a drink when it's over. If
you don t dance to please me, you'll get nothing. See?

_The Watteau Shepherdess_ (_with delicate disdain_). 'Ere, you go
along, you silly ass!

[_Hits him with her crook._