the drawing-room to hear Miss Screecher sing? Can you ask us? We
tumble over each other in our hurry. Miss Screecher would really
rather not sing; but if we insist--We do insist. Miss Screecher,
with pretty reluctance, consents. We are careful not to look at one
another. We sit with our eyes fixed on the ceiling. Miss Screecher
finishes, and rises.

"But it was so short," we say, so soon as we can be heard above the
applause. Is Miss Screecher quite sure that was the whole of it? Or
has she been playing tricks upon us, the naughty lady, defrauding us
of a verse? Miss Screecher assures us that the fault is the
composer's. But she knows another. At this hint, our faces lighten
again with gladness. We clamour for more.

Our host's wine is always the most extraordinary we have ever tasted.
No, not another glass; we dare not--doctor's orders, very strict.
Our host's cigar! We did not know they made such cigars in this
workaday world. No, we really could not smoke another. Well, if he
will be so pressing, may we put it in our pocket? The truth is, we
are not used to high smoking. Our hostess's coffee! Would she
confide to us her secret? The baby! We hardly trust ourselves to
speak. The usual baby--we have seen it. As a rule, to be candid, we
never could detect much beauty in babies--have always held the usual
gush about them to be insincere. But this baby! We are almost on
the point of asking them where they got it. It is just the kind we
wanted for ourselves. Little Janet's recitation: "A Visit to the
Dentist!" Hitherto the amateur reciter has not appealed to us. But
this is genius, surely. She ought to be trained for the stage. Her
mother does not altogether approve of the stage. We plead for the
stage--that it may not be deprived of such talent.