Their extemporised supper was a great success, and they sat before the wood fire far into the night.

“What was up this morning?” he finally asked.  “You weren’t quite yourself, were you?”

“This morning?” she questioned, puzzled.  “Oh, I remember.  I woke with a splitting headache.  Did you notice it?  You nice old thing!”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Musician (having bumped lady with ’cello).  “OH, I AM SO SORRY.”

Lady. “DON’T MENTION IT.  I’M PASSIONATELY FOND OF MUSIC.”]

* * * * *

AT THE PLAY.

“MR. PIM PASSES BY.”

  “The year’s at the spring
  And day’s at the morn... 
  God’s in His heaven—­
  All’s right with the world!”

When Pippa “passed,” singing songs like that and preoccupied with the splendid fact of her one day’s holiday, she unconsciously brought about a change for the better in the heart or conscience of all who overheard her.  It was not so with the passing of Mr. Pim.  Prior to his intrusion, there had been nothing to disturb the well-ordered existence of Geo. Marden, Esq., J.P., and his wife (late Mrs. Tellworthy), except that they did not see eye to eye on the small question of his niece’s early engagement to a young artist and on the still smaller question of futuristic curtains.  Then came Mr. Garraway Pim, a doddering old gentleman, with a thin falsetto voice and a loosish memory, but otherwise harmless.  He arrives with an introduction from Australia and casually lets fall a tale of a fellow-passenger with the unusual name of Tellworthy, from which—­and other incidental evidence—­Mrs. Marden gathers that her first husband (an ex-convict) is still alive.  Having dropped this thunderbolt he drifts off, leaving tragedy in his wake.  End of Act I.

Marden, highly conscientious, takes the orthodox view that his lawless marriage must be nullified.  His wife, though horrified at the resurrection of her impossible first husband, permits herself to recognise the humorously ironic side of things. Mr. Pim, fortunately located in the immediate neighbourhood, is sent for that he may throw further light on the painful subject of Tellworthy’s revival.  He now reports—­what he had vaguely imagined himself to have mentioned in the first instance—­that Tellworthy had met his death at Marseilles through swallowing a herring-bone.  The Second Act closes with a burst of jubilant hysterics on the part of Mrs. Marden.