_Empress._ Well, you know best, dear; but I should have thought you could have got your boots cleaned for rather less!
_Emperor._ Possibly; but I should have lost the story. And you know it reads so well.
_Empress._ And here's another rather big item. £800 for a London cabman!
_Emperor._ I consider _that_ the cheapest item in the lot. He wanted more!
_Empress._ And here are several items of seventy pounds apiece. What were _they_ for?
_Emperor._ Oh, nothing in particular. Little girl picked up my handkerchief, and a little boy asked me for a kite. Was obliged to give them each a bundle of tenners. It would have been so mean if I had given them less. But there, I told you you wouldn't find the book at all interesting. If you will pass it to me, I will lock it up.
_Empress._ Oh, certainly, dear. (_Gives up volume._) And now, darling, I am going to ask you a favour. You never saw such a pet of a coronet as they have at Von ----'s. Now I want you to buy it for me particularly.
_Emperor_ (_embarrassed_). Certainly, dear--but you know, we are not too well off.
_Empress._ Oh, but it is simply charming. Rubies round the edge, and a cross of brilliants and emeralds. And, really, _so_ cheap. They only want £100,000 for it!
_Emperor._ Very nice indeed; but just at this moment it would be a little inconvenient to produce so large a sum.
_Empress._ Large sum! Why, the rubies alone are worth all the money.
_Emperor._ Yes, I know, dear. And now I must hurry away; duty, my love, comes before pleasure. See you soon.
[_Exit hurriedly, to attend a review. In the meanwhile, Coronet remains in the jeweller's shop-window. Curtain_.
[Illustration: THE FESTIVE SEASON. A SCOTCH NIGHT.]
There used to appear daily--and it may be appearing daily now, for aught I know, only, speaking on oath, I haven't lately noticed it--a question addressed by Everybody in General, or by Nobody in Particular to Everybody Else, which took this form: "Where shall we dine to-day?" I forget what the answer was, but, as a rule, the domesticated man, with a good cook in his own kitchen, could answer it offhand by saying to himself, "'_Where_ shall we dine to-day?' Why, at home, of course--where better?--and catch me moving out afterwards." But, if he were contemplating the unpleasant certainty of having post-prandially to leave his hearth and home in order to visit some theatre, opera, or concert, then it might occur to him that he could do the thing well, and give his party a novel treat, if, in French fashion, he took them somewhere to dine, previous to doing their play. Thus it occurred to Yours truly, Y TI-BULLUS BIBULUS, a day or two ago, when, dressed in his classical evening Togaryii in a _Currus Pulcher_ (with a _Cursor_ alongside anticipating _denarii_, and risking the sharp rebuke of a probable _Cursor_ inside the vehicle) he was passing the Oxford Music Hall, and a brightly decorated Restauration caught his observant eye. Was it new, or was it a Restauration restored? Its name, in large letters, "FRASCATI." This seemed at once to lend itself to a familiar jingle, and I found myself humming,--