[The phonograph has begun to buzz and hum.

Mrs. R. Hush!—­it’s Uncle JOHN’S present.

[The “Wedding March” strikes up with a deafening blare.

Jack (startled).  Bless my soul!  I thought something had blown up. “Hallelujah Chorus,” is it—­or what?

Mrs. R. (coldly).  As it happens, it is MENDELSSOHN’S “Wedding March.”

Jack. Sounded familiar somehow.  ’Jove!  MENDELSSOHN was determined to let ’em know he was married!

Mrs. R. That was intended to let people know we were married.  It is our Wedding March.

Jack. Ours?  You said it was MENDELSSOHN’S just now!  But what are you turning it on now, for?

Mrs. R. Do you remember what day this is, by any chance?

Jack. Haven’t an idea.  Isn’t there a calendar on your writing-table?—­that ought to tell you, if you want to know.

Mrs. R. Thank you, I don’t require a calendar.  To-day is the twenty-third—­the day you and I were married. [Sighs.

Jack. ’Pon my word I believe you’re right.  The twenty-third—­so it is! [He becomes silent.

Mrs. R. (to herself, as the “Wedding March” continues jubilantly).  He is ashamed of himself.  I knew he would be—­only he doesn’t quite know how to tell me so; he will presently....  I wish I could see his face....  If he is only sorry enough, I think I shall forgive him.  JACK! (Softly.) JACK dear! (A prolonged snore from the arm-chair.  She goes to him and touches his arm.) You had better go down-stairs and have your cigar, hadn’t you?  It may keep you awake! (Bitterly.)

Jack (opening his eyes).  Eh?—­oh!  Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind being alone, I rather think I will.

Mrs. R. I should infinitely prefer being alone—­I am so used to it.

[Exit JACK, as the “Wedding March” comes to a triumphant conclusion.

THIRD ANNIVERSARY—­1895.

SAME SCENE.  TIME, 11:30 P.M.  MRS. MANDOLINE DISCOVERED WITH HER DAUGHTER.

Mrs. M. Nearly twelve, and JACK not in yet—­on this of all days, too!  VIOLA, you will be weak, culpably weak, if you don’t speak to him, very seriously, when he does come in.

Mrs. R. (ruefully).  I can’t, Mother.  We’re not on speaking terms just now, you know.

Mrs. M. Then I shall.  Fortunately, I am on speaking terms with him—­as he will find out! (A ring.) There he is, at last!  Go, my poor darling, leave me to bring him to a sense of his disgraceful conduct. (Mrs. R. retires by the back drawing-room.) How shall I begin?  Ah, poor JOHN’S phonograph!  How lucky I remembered it! (Selecting a cylinder.) There, if anything can pierce his hard heart, that will!