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Group, feeling that this remark sums up the situation, disperses

      The Suburban Lady (her pencil in full play). No. 93. Now what's that about? Oh, "Forbidden Sweets," – yes, to be sure. Isn't that charming? Those two dear little tots having their tea, and the kitten with its head stuck in the jam-pot, and the label and all, and the sticky spoon on the nursery table-cloth – so natural! I really must mark that. (Awards this distinction.) 97. "Going up Top." Yes, of course. Look, Lucy dear, that little fellow has just answered a question, and his master tells him he may go to the top of the class, do you see? And the big boy looking so sulky, he's wishing he had learnt his lesson better. I do think it's so clever – all the different expressions. Yes, I shall certainly mark that!

IN GALLERY NO. II

      The S. L. (doubtfully). H'm, No. 156. "Cloud Chariots"? Not very like chariots, though, are they?

      Her Friend. I expect it's one of those sort of pictures that you have to look at a long time, and then things gradually come out of it, you know.

      The S. L. It may be. (Tries the experiment.) No, I can't make anything come out – only just clouds and their reflections. (Struggling between good-nature and conscientiousness.) I don't think I can mark that.

IN GALLERY NO. III

      A Matron (before Mr. Dicksee's "Tannhäuser"). "Venus and Tannhäuser" – ah, and is that Venus on the stretcher? Oh, that's her all on fire in the background. Then which is Tannhäuser, and what are they all supposed to be doing? [In a tone of irritation.

      Her Nephew. Oh, it tells you all about it in the Catalogue – he meets her funeral, you know, and leaves grow on his stick.

      The Matron (pursing her lips). Oh, a dead person.

[Repulses the Catalogue severely and passes on

      First Person, with an "Eye for Art" (before "Psyche's Bath," by the President). Not bad, eh?

      Second Person, &c. No, I rather like it. (Feels that he is growing too lenient). He doesn't give you a very good idea of marble, though.

      First P. &c. No —that's not marble, and he always puts too many folds in his drapery to suit me.

      First P. &c. Just what I always say. It's not natural, you know.

[They pass on, much pleased with themselves and one another

      A Fiancé (halting before a sea-scape, by Mr. Henry Moore, to Fiancée). Here, I say, hold on a bit – what's this one?

      Fiancée (who doesn't mean to waste the whole afternoon over pictures). Why, it's only a lot of waves —come on!

      The Suburban L. Lucy, this is rather nice. "Breakfasts for the Porth!" (Pondering). I think there must be a mistake in the Catalogue – I don't see any breakfast things – they're cleaning fish, and what's a "Porth!" Would you mark that – or not?

      Her Comp. Oh, I think so.

      The S. L. I don't know. I've marked such a quantity already and the lead won't hold out much longer. Oh, it's by Hook, R.A. Then I suppose it's sure to be all right. I've marked it, dear.

      Duet by Two Dreadfully Severe Young Ladies, who paint a little on China. Oh, my dear, look at that. Did you ever see such a thing? Isn't it too perfectly awful? And there's a thing! Do come and look at this horror over here. A "Study," indeed. I should just think it was! Oh, Maggie, don't be so satirical, or I shall die! No, but do just see this – isn't it killing? They get worse and worse every year, I declare!

[And so onIN GALLERY NO. V

      Two Prosaic Persons come upon a little picture, by Mr. Swan, of a boy lying on a rock, piping to fishes.

      First P. P. That's a rum thing!

      Second P. P. Yes, I wasn't aware myself that fishes were so partial to music.

      First P. P. They may be – out there – (perceiving that the boy is unclad) – but it's peculiar altogether – they look like herrings to me.

      Second P. P. Yes – or mackerel. But (tolerantly) I suppose it's a fancy subject.

[They consider that this absolves them from taking any further interest in it, and pass onIN GALLERY NO. XI

      An Old Lady (who judges Art from a purely Moral Standpoint, halts approvingly before a picture of a female orphan). Now that really is a nice picture, my dear – a plain black dress and white cuffs – just what I like to see in a young person!

      The S. L. (her enthusiasm greatly on the wane, and her temper slightly affected). Lucy, I wish you wouldn't worry so – it's quite impossible to stop and look at everything. If you wanted your tea as badly as I do! Mark that one? What, when they neither of them have a single thing on! Never, Lucy, – and I'm surprised at your suggesting it! Oh, you meant the next one? h'm – no, I can't say I care for it. Well, if I do mark it, I shall only put a tick – for it really is not worth a cross!

COMING OUT

      The Man who always makes the Right Remark. H'm. Haven't seen anything I could carry away with me.

      His Flippant Friend. Too many people about, eh? Never mind, old chap, you may manage to sneak an umbrella down stairs – I won't say anything!

[Disgust of his companion, who descends stairs in offended silence, as scene closes

      At the Horse Show

Time —About 3.30. Leaping Competition about to begin. The Competitors are ranged in a line at the upper end of the Hall while the attendants place the hedges in position. Amongst the Spectators in the Area are – a Saturnine Stableman from the country; a Cockney Groom; a Morbid Man; a Man who is apparently under the impression that he is the only person gifted with sight; a Critic who is extremely severe upon other people's seats; a Judge of Horseflesh; and Two Women who can't see as well as they could wish

      The Descriptive Man. They've got both the fences up now, d'ye see? There's the judges going to start the jumping; each rider's got a ticket with his number on his back. See? The first man's horse don't seem to care about jumping this afternoon – see how he's dancing about. Now he's going at it – there, he's cleared it! Now he'll have to jump the next one!

[Keeps up a running fire of these instructive and valuable observations throughout the proceedings

      The Judge of Horseflesh. Rare good shoulders that one has.

      The Severe Critic (taking the remark to apply to the horse's rider). H'm, yes – rather – pity he sticks his elbows out quite so much, though.

[His Friend regards him in silent astonishment. Another Competitor clears a fence, but exhibits a considerable amount of daylight

      The Saturnine Stableman (encouragingly). You'll 'ev to set back a bit next journey, Guv'nor!

      The Cockney Groom. 'Orses 'ud jump better if the fences was a bit 'igher.

      The S. S. They'll be plenty 'oigh enough fur some on 'em.

      The Severe Critic. Ugly seat that fellow has – all anyhow when the horse jumps.

      Judge of Horseflesh. Has he? I didn't notice – I was looking at the horse. [Severe Critic feels snubbed.

      The S. S. (soothingly, as the Competitor with the loose seat comes round again). That's not good, Guv'nor!

      The Cockney Groom. 'Ere's a little bit o' fashion coming down next – why, there's quite a boy on his back.

      The S. S. 'E won't be on 'im long if he don't look out. Cup an ball I call it!

      The Morbid Man. I suppose there's always a accident o' some sort before they've finished.

      First Woman. Oh, don't, for goodness' sake, talk like that – I'm sure I don't want to see nothing 'appen.

      Second Woman. Well, you may make your mind easy – for you won't

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