Mr. F. My dear CECILIA, I can quite fancy it!

Mrs. F. But I thought these tortures were only for Malefactors.  Why do they call it a Penitent’s Girdle?

Mr. F. Can’t say,—­unless because he generally repented having put it on.

Mrs. F. I don’t think that can be the real reason.

Two English House-maids (to a small German Page-Boy who is escorting them).  Here, JOHNNIE, what’s this mean? (Reads from Catalogue the motto on an Executioner’s Sword.) “Di Herrin’ sturin dem Unheel ick exequire ir End Urthile.”  Come, you ought to know!

Johnnie (not unnaturally at a loss).  It means—­it means—­somding I do not understandt.

The Housemaids (disappointed in him).  Well, you are a boy!  I did think, bein’ German yourself, you’d be quite at ’ome ’ere!

Mr. Ernest Stodgely (impressively, to Miss FEATHERHEAD, his fiancee).  Just look at this, FLOSSIE. (Reading.) “Executioner’s Cloak, very long, of red woollen material; presumably red so as not to show blood-spots or stains.”  Hideously suggestive that, is it not?

Miss Flossie. I shouldn’t call it exactly hideous, ERNEST. Do you know, I was just thinking that, with a high Astrachan collar, you know, and old silver fastenings, it would make rather a nice winter cloak.  So deliciously warm! [ERNEST avails himself of a lover’s privileges to lecture her severely.

    IN FRONT OF THE IRON MAIDEN.

Mr. Ch.  Goole. So this is the Iron Maiden!  Well, I expected something rather more dreadful-looking.  The face has really quite a pleasant expression. [Disappointedly.

[Illustration:  “Oh, but I think that makes it so much more horrible, don’t you?”]

Mrs. Ch.  G. (with subtler appreciation).  Oh, but I think that makes it so much more horrible, don’t you?

Mr. Ch.  G. Well, I don’t know—­perhaps.  But there ought to be a wax figure inside it.  They ought to have wax figures on most of these things—­make it much more interesting!

Mr. Frivell (who is close by).  I quite agree with you, Sir—­indeed, I would go farther.  I think there should be competent persons engaged to provide practical illustrations of all the more amusing tortures—­say from three to five every afternoon.  Draw all London!

Mrs. F. (horrified).  FRED, you know you don’t mean it!  And besides, you would never get people willing to be shut up inside that thing!

Mr. F. My dear, I’m perfectly serious, as I always am.  And as to not getting subjects, why—­(He beckons to one of the Boy-Messengers in waiting, who advances).  Look here, my lad, you seem a bright intelligent youth.  Would you mind just stepping inside and allowing us to close the door?  We won’t detain you an instant.