Mrs Bellingham:  (In cap and seal Coney mantle, wrapped up to the nose, steps out of her Brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside her huge Opossum muff) Also to me.  Yes, I believe it is the same objectionable person.  Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker’s one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the wastepipe and the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen.  Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, in my honour.  I had it examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it was ablossom of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the model farm.

Mrs Yelverton Barry:  Shame on him!

(A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward)

The sluts and ragamuffins:  (Screaming) Stop thief!  Hurrah there,
Bluebeard!  Three cheers for Ikey Mo!

Second watch:  (Produces handcuffs) Here are the darbies.

Mrs Bellingham:  He addressed me in several handwritings with fulsome compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my frostbound coachman Palmer while in the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the armorial bearings of the Bellingham escutcheon garnished sable, a buck’s head couped or.  He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up.  He urged me (stating that he felt it his mission in life to urge me) to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity.

The honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys:  (In Amazon costume, hard hat, jackboots COCKSPURRED, vermilion waistcoat, fawn musketeer GAUNTLETS with braided drums, long train held up and hunting crop with which she strikes her welt constantly) Also me.  Because he saw me on the polo ground of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland.  My eyes, I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur.  This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney