you live on suction, you're like that bird with a long bill,
they call doctor, no, that's not it, I thought it was a doctor,
because it has a long bill--I mean a snipe--yes, you're a lovely snipe.
[Exeunt, R.]

Asa [Looking after them.] There goes a load of wooden nutmegs.
Hello, here comes somebody else.


Enter Florence, R., with paper.


Flo. [Reads.] ``One who still remembers what he ought long since
to have forgotten, wishes to speak with Miss Trenchard.''
Florence scratched out, ``on matters of life and death, near the orel,
in the west gallery,'' Written upon a dirty sheet of paper,
in a hardly legible hand. What does this mean; it opens like one of
Mrs. Radcliffe's romances. Well, here I am, and now for my correspondent.


Enter Murcott, L.


Mur Oh! for one minute's clear head, Miss Florence.

Flo I presume you are the writer of this?

Mur Yes, I am.

Flo You address me as an old acquaintance, but I do not recognize you.