_Mrs. Frimmely._ I don't know his name. He wasn't here last Sunday.

_Boodels_ (_whose headache has entirely disappeared_). Ah, the Rector perhaps. There are two Churches here, and he has two Curates.

_Miss Bella_ (_frowningly_). He preached in black.

_Milburd._ It _is_ the Rector. It's what they call 'Low Sunday' here.

_Chilvern._ What's that?

_Madame._ Not Low Sunday with us; that is after Easter Day.

_Medford_ (_explaining_). Ah yes, Boodels refers to the tone of their Churchmanship. The Rector is Broad Church, Mr. Marveloe, the senior Curate, is High Church, and Mr. Alpely, the junior Curate, is Low. This just suits the parishioners, and they take it turn and turn about at the two Churches, the Rector doing duty at both, accommodating himself to either view as the case may be. One Sunday they're high, another they're low, and the other Church is _vice versa_.

_Miss Adelaide._ To-day it was the duett of parson and clerk.

_Miss Bella._ Oh, horrid! I'd rather stop at home than hear that. Why at S. Phillips at home we have vestments, and incense, and everything is done so well.

_Miss Medford_ (_quietly_). Well, I'd just as soon go to one as another.

May I trouble you for the salt, Signor Regniati?

_Signor._ My Jo! If zey do not preach I vould go--

_Madame_ (_severely_). Mr. Regniati, hand the salt.

_Mrs. Frimmely._ What an absurd cloak that Mrs. Tringmer had.

_Miss Bella._ I suppose she thought it was quite the fashion.

_Mrs. Frimmely._ Who was that lady--Captain Byrton, do _you_ know?--who came in rustling all up the Church, and so scented! as if she'd stepped out of a perfumer's.

_Byrton._ Don't know. Perhaps she _has_ stepped out of a perfumer's, and is an advertis.e.m.e.nt.

_Happy Thought (for a perfumer)._--To send scented people about.

Questions asked, _e.g._ Stranger (_sniffing_) goes up politely and inquires, "I beg a hundred pardons, but what scent--what delicious scent are you wearing?" Then the lady replies, "Don't mention it, Ma'am. It's (whatever the name is), and there's the card." And gives her the perfumer's address.

_Miss Adelaide._ I thought Miss Vyner rather prettily dressed.

_Mrs. Frimmely._ Oh! but _did_ you see her gloves! Such a fit!

_Miss Bella._ And such a colour!

_Cazell._ I wonder who that bald-headed man in front of me was? There was a collection, and he put a sovereign into the plate.

_Chilvern._ I'm always unlucky in that way. Whenever I go to Church there's always a collection.

_Captain Byrton._ Yes. You kept the man waiting at the pew door for at least two minutes, while you fumbled in all your pockets. Anyone have any cheese?

_Chilvern._ I knew I'd got a shilling somewhere--but it was a fourpenny-bit after all.

_Miss Medford._ How very disturbing it must be for the clergyman, when a child persists in crying at intervals all through the sermon.

_Mrs. Frimmely._ Yes, little things like that oughtn't to be brought to church; at least, not to sit out sermons.

_Boodels_ (_with some vague recollection of the baptismal service_). But you forget, Mrs. Frimmely, G.o.dfathers and G.o.dmothers promise to bring children to _hear_ sermons. That's one of the three things they vow in the child's name.

_Mrs. Frimmely._ Really? (_seeing no help for it short of a second reformation, or disestablishment_). Well it's a great pity.

_Milburd_ (_to Byrton_). I see by the _Field_ to-day, that _Lysander_ is going up for the Derby.

_Byrton._ He's nowhere. _Corkscrew's_ at a hundred to fifteen.

_Mrs. Frimmely._ I was right last year. Wasn't I? (_To her husband._)

_Frimmely._ Yes: for once. (_Mrs. Frimmely tosses her head._)

_Soames_ (_the Professor of Scientific Economy_). Betting can be reduced to the certainty of a mathematical calculation.

_Cazell_ (_to him_). I tell you what _you_ ought to do, then.

_Soames_ (_innocently_). What?

_Cazell._ Make your fortune. (_A t.i.tter. Pause._)

_Medford._ I see by the _Musical Times_ that we're to have the new prima donna, Stellafanti, at Covent Garden.

_Madame._ We heard her years ago at Naples. (_Interest in her diminishes._)

_Mrs. Frimmely._ We _must_ get up some theatricals here.

_Misses Adelaide and Bella._ Oh yes, _do let's_!

_Miss Medford._ I think they _are_ such fun.

_Medford._ We could do something musical, easily.

_The Signor_ (_while the others talk about theatricals_). My Jo! I should like to get a leettel shoot vile I am here.

_Capt Byrton._ Birds very wild. Have you had good sport?

_Signor._ My Jo! at Bad-ge-bee zere are--oh--'eaps of birds! but ven zey see me, zey go avays. I go out to shoot zem, an' I shoot no-sing.

Here the conversation becomes general, some are hot on theatricals and musical matters, others on sporting. Mr. Frimmely and the Professor are discussing finance. Miss Medford and Mrs. Regniati have got on an ecclesiastical topic.

--"We might play an opera, with a part for--"

--"The Archbishop of Canterbury, he is a friend of our rector's and says--"

--"My Jo! I 'ave such a pig! and I 'ave a bull that--"