ted that I have no patience with him!

Madame de F. (with a sigh). I wish you could attend the services of a
better church. And when was it you thought you might be good, Ethel?

Ethel. When I was a girl. Before I came out. When I used to take long
rides with my dear Uncle Newcome; and he used to talk to me in his sweet
simple way; and he said I reminded him of some one he once knew.

Madame de F. Who--who was that, Ethel?

Ethel (looking up at Gerard's picture of the Countess de Florac). What
odd dresses you wore in the time of the Empire, Madame de Florac! How
could you ever have such high waists, and such wonderful fraises!
(MADAME DE FLORAC kisses ETHEL. Tableau.)

Enter SAINT JEAN, preceding a gentleman with a drawing-board under his
arm.

Saint Jean. Monsieur Claive! [Exit SAINT JEAN.

Clive. How do you do, Madame la Comtesse? Mademoiselle, j'ai l'honneur
de vous souhaiter le bon jour.

Madame de F. Do you come from the Louvre? Have you finished that
beautiful copy, mon ami?

Clive. I have brought it for you. It is not very good. There are always
so many petites demoiselles copying that Sasso Ferrato; and they chatter
about it so, and hop from one easel to another; and the young artists
are always coming to give them advice--so that there is no getting a
good look at the picture. But I have brought you the sketch; and am so
pleased that you asked for it.

Madame de F. (surveying the sketch). It is charming--charming! What
shall we give to our painter for his chef-d'oeuvre?

Clive (kisses her hand). There is my pay! And you will be glad to hear
that two of my portraits have been received at the Exhibition. My uncle,
the clergyman, and Mr. Butts, of the Life Guards.

Ethel. Mr. Butts--quel nom! Je ne connois aucun M. Butts!

Clive. He has a famous head to draw. They refused Crackthorpe and--and
one or two other heads I sent in.

Ethel (tossing up hers). Miss Mackenzie's, I suppose!

Clive. Yes, Miss Mackenzie's. It is a sweet little face; too delicate
for my hand, though.

Ethel. So is a wax-doll's a pretty face. Pink cheeks; china-blue eyes;
and hair the colour of old Madame Hempenfeld's--not her last hair--her
last but one. (She goes to a window that looks into the court.)

Clive (to the Countess). Miss Mackenzie speaks more respectfully of
other people's eyes and hair. She thinks there is nobody in the world to
compare to Miss Newcome.

Madame de F. (aside). And you, mon ami? This is the las