“I am going to sing for the Countess of Carbury at a concert at Wandsworth.”

“Sing!  You!  The Countess of Barbury!  Does she live at Wandsworth?”

“No.  She lives in Park Lane.”

“Oh!  I beg her pardon.”  The man made no comment on this; and she, after looking doubtfully at him to assure herself that he was in earnest, continued, “How does the Countess of Whatshername come to know you, pray?”

“Why not?”

A long pause ensued.  Then she said:  “Stuff!”, but without conviction.  Her exclamation had no apparent effect on him until he had buttoned his waistcoat and arranged his watch-chain.  Then he glanced at a sheet of pink paper which lay on the mantelpiece.  She snatched it at once; opened it; stared incredulously at it; and said, “Pink paper, and scalloped edges!  How filthily vulgar!  I thought she was not much of a Countess!  Ahem!  ’Music for the People.  Parnassus Society.  A concert will be given at the Town Hall, Wandsworth, on Tuesday, the 25th April, by the Countess of Carbury, assisted by the following ladies and gentlemen.  Miss Elinor McQuinch’—­what a name!  ’Miss Marian Lind’—­who’s Miss Marian Lind?”

“How should I know?”

“I only thought, as she is a pal of the Countess, that you would most likely be intimate with her.  ‘Mrs. Leith Fairfax.’  There is a Mrs. Leith Fairfax who writes novels, and very rotten novels they are, too.  Who are the gentlemen?  ’Mr. Marmaduke Lind’—­brother to Miss Marian, I suppose.  ’Mr. Edward Conolly’—­save the mark! they must have been rather hard up for gentlemen when they put you down as one.  The Conolly family is looking up at last.  Hm! nearly a dozen altogether.  ’Tickets will be distributed to the families of working men by the Rev. George Lind’—­pity they didnt engage Jenny Lind on purpose to sing with you.  ’A limited number of front seats at one shilling.  Please turn over.  Part I. Symphony in F:  Haydn.  Arranged for four English concertinas by Julius Baker.  Mr. Julius Baker; Master Julius Abt Baker; Miss Lisette Baker (aged 8); and Miss Totty Baker (aged 6-1/2)’.  Good Lord!  ’Song:  Rose softly blooming:  Spohr.  Miss Marian Lind.’  I wonder whether she can sing!  ’Polonaise in A flat major:  Chopin’—­what rot!  As if working people cared about Chopin!  Miss Elinor McQuinch is a fool, I see.  ’Song:  The Valley:  Gounod.’  Of course:  I knew you would try that.  Oho!  Here’s something sensible at last.  ’Nigger melody.  Uncle Ned.  Mr. Marmaduke Lind, accompanied by himself on the banjo.’

  Dum, drum.  Dum, drum.  Dum, drum.  Dum—­
  ’And there was an ole nigga; and his name was Uncle Ned;
    An’ him dead long ago, long ago. 
  An’ he had no hair on the top of his head
    In the place where the wool ought to grow,’

Mr. Marmaduke Lind will get a double encore; and no one will take the least notice of you or the others.  ’Recitation.  The Faithful Soul.  Adelaide Proctor.  Mrs. Leith Fairfax.’  Well, this certainly is a blessed attempt to amuse Wandsworth. Another reading by the Rev.——­”