I esteem the honor, I can't afford it any
longer, nor can the laundress, nor can the hairdresser. Eight hundred
francs a year for washing! Three clean shirts a day, three cravats!
Boots blacked, soles and all, and with such varnish! But then he has
such exquisite taste! why, he blackballed a friend of his who wanted to
enter his club, because the candidate's boots were polished with bad
blacking. I wonder whether the king will do anything for him? It is Mr.
Brummell's dressing hour, and here he comes.

[_Enter_ BRUMMELL, _letter in hand_. ISIDORE _busies himself piling
cravats upon the side of dressing table, and wheels chair to the
mirror_. BRUMMELL _throws himself in the chair before the glass,
examines the cravats and throws two or three of them away_.

BRUMMELL. Isidore, take those dusters away; the chambermaid has
forgotten them. [_Re-reads the letter_.] Strange girl this; the only
thing I know against her is that she takes soup twice. It's the old
story. Her father wants her to marry a fellow who can keep her, and she
wants to have a young fellow who can't. Well, the young fellow who can't
is the more interesting of the two. I must ask the father to dinner I
suppose--it's a deuced bore; but it will put him under a heavy
obligation. I must make excuses to Ballarat and Gill. Isidore, when I'm
dressed take my compliments to Mr. Davis, and tell him I shall be happy
to see him at dinner to-day.

ISID. Very well, sir. [_Aside_.] To Davis, a retired fellow from the
city! This is a tumble!--I am sorry to trouble you, sir, but----

BRUM. I can't talk to you to-day, Isidore. Give me a cravat.

ISID. [_handing one_]. I am a poor man, and six thousand francs----

BRUM. I understand, Isidore. We'll see--we'll see; don't disturb me.
Zounds! man, haven't you been long enough with me to know that these are
not moments when I can speak or listen? [_Bell rings_.] If that be Mr.
Fotherby, show him in. [_Exit_ ISIDORE.] I intend to form that young
fellow--there's stuff in him. I've noticed that he uses my blacking.
[_Enter_ FOTHERBY _followed by_ ISIDORE.] How d'e do, Fotherby?

FOTHERBY. This admittance is an honor, indeed, sir!

BRUM. My dear fellow, why, what do you call those things upon your feet?

FOTHER. Things on my feet! Shoes, to be sure!

BRUM. Shoes! I thought they were slippers!

FOTHER. You prefer boots then, sir, doubtless?

BRUM. Well, let me see. Humph! Isidore, which do I prefer, boots or
shoes?

ISID