t
of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are
several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing
that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are
glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of
whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of
roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated
newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one
disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears
noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a
room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle,
and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before
delivering the thrust.

ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function
is to take place here.

CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir.

ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea
in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy,
Crichton.

CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir.

ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might
look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his
lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month?

CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical
views.

ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he
is affable to you.

CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment
of us is everything that could be desired.

ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup
of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs.

CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir.

ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally).
Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants,
I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.)
I was wondering where I should stand.

(He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over
a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON,
with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and
departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the
footstool across the room.)

ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling t