ACT I.—­GEOFFREY DELAMAYN and his brother are seen conversing in an arbor. (Don’t let the printer imagine that I mean Ann Arbor.  It was bad enough in WILKIE COLLINS to banish his dramatis personae to Scotland; but he was nevertheless too humane to send them to Michigan.)

JULIUS DELAMAYN.  “GEOFFREY, you really must do something.  The unmannerly people who are just coming into the theatre make such a noise that I couldn’t be heard if I took the trouble to preach to you for an hour, so I won’t attempt to make my meaning any clearer.”

GEOFFREY.  “I will or I won’t, I forget which.  However, the audience can’t hear.  We’ve got a pretty good house here to-night I wonder if my muscles really show to any extent.  Here comes LADY LUNDIE and her friends.”

LADY LUNDIE.  “I choose everybody to play croquet on my side.  The rest may play on BLANCHE’S side.  Miss SYLVESTER, you look as if you could not stand alone.  Therefore I order you to play.”

ANNIE SYLVESTER.  “Madame, I will.  GEOFFREY, meet me here in ten minutes, or you’ll be sorry for it.” (Exit everybody.  ANNIE and GEOFFREY returning on tip-toe.)

ANNIE.  “You must marry me this afternoon.  Meet me at the inn on the moor.”

GEOFFREY.  “I won’t cross the moor with you.  DESDEMONA foolishly crossed the Moor, and came to grief in consequence.  I take warning by her.  I hate you, but I suppose I must marry you, or you’ll sell all my letters to the Sun.”—­(They go out to be married.)

ARNOLD enters and makes love to BLANCHE.  SIR PATRICK does the comic business with LEWIS’S usual humor. (What a nice man LEWIS must be for girls to quarrel with; he “makes up” so nicely—­this is a joke.) LADY LUNDIE enters and announces that ANNIE is no longer her governess, that misguided person having thrown up her situation, for the irrational reason that it was an interesting one, and having fled in the silence of the after-dinner hour.  Shrieks of horror from the young ladies, who desist from knocking their croquet-balls into the orchestra and the proscenium boxes; and triumphant falling of a new act-drop.  STOEPEL, having thought of a sweet passage for the fife, in a Chinese opera, plays it uninterruptedly for forty-five minutes.  A deaf old gentleman approvingly remarks that this is really classical music.

ACT II.—­A storm at the inn on the Moor.  Miss SYLVESTER waits for her GEOFFREY and her tea.  Enter ARNOLD.

ARNOLD. " GEOFFREY can’t come, so he has sent me.  I know your situation, and shall have to feel for you if it gets much darker and they don’t bring candles.  That is, if I’m to shake hands with you.  I have told everybody here that you are my wife.  Let’s have a little game of seven-up, and pass the time profitably.”