the right is a hat-and-umbrella stand.  Nearer, in the centre, is a large circular table on which are displayed bottles of scent and liquid soap, cases of instruments for manicure, and some wooden bowls of bath-soap with lather brushes.  On the right and left are ordinary chairs.  Placed against the partition on the left, and facing the audience, is a cabinet, making a display similar to that upon the what-not.  Nearer, on the left, there is another screen-chair set to face the audience; below it is a smaller seat and, by the side of the smaller seat, another little table with manicure tools, &c.  Some framed photographs of ladies hang against the wood-work of the partition and in the wall-spaces; and in the lower and middle windows, on the right, bird-cages are suspended.

The light is that of a bright day in June.

[On the right MISS CLARIDGE and MISS HUDDLE are in the final stages of manicuring two smart-looking men.  The men occupy the screen-chairs; the manicurists—­comely girls in black frocks—­sit, facing the men, upon the smaller seats.  On the left MISS MOON is rougeing and varnishing the nails of a fashionably-dressed young lady, whose maid is seated at the table in the centre. MISS LIMBIRD is at the desk, deep in accounts.

MISS MOON: 

[To the young lady.] You won’t have them too red, will you?

YOUNG LADY.

Not too red—­nicely flushed.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.

[Examining his nails critically as he rises.] I say though, that’s a vast improvement!

MISS CLARIDGE.

Getting more shapely, aren’t they?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.

Thanks awfully.

[He pays MISS LIMBIRD, stands talking to her for a while, and ultimately strolls away through the opening in the partition.  After putting her table in order, MISS CLARIDGE goes out the same way, carrying her bowl of water and towel.

MISS MOON.

[To the young lady.] Have you had your hand read yet, madam, by any of these palmists?

YOUNG LADY.

Heavens, yes!  I’ve been twice to that woman Bernstein, and I don’t know how often to Chiron.

MISS MOON.

Ah, you ought to try Valma.

YOUNG LADY.

Valma?

MISS MOON.

He’s the latest.  Ladies are flocking to him.

YOUNG LADY.

Really?

MISS MOON.

Yes.  Such taking manners.

YOUNG LADY.

Where does he—?

MISS MOON.

186—­next door. [Indicating the window on the left.] You can see his waiting-room from that window.

YOUNG LADY.

Is he a guinea or half a guinea?

MISS MOON.

Oh, he’s a guinea.

YOUNG LADY.

That’s a bore.

MISS MOON.

Ah, but consider, madam—­his rooms are draped from ceiling to floor in blue velvet.  Blue velvet! fancy!  Not that I’ve had the privilege of viewing them myself; Miss F. is our authority.