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Updated: May 1, 2025
Can you hear what Lord Fondleton is saying to Mrs Gloring at this moment? Germsell. No, and I don't want to. Fussle. Ah, there it is. You won't hear anything you don't want to. Now I can, and he ought not to say it; look how she is blushing. Oh, I forgot you are short-sighted. Well, you see, I can hear further than you, and see further than you.
Germsell. Pardon me, you do not possess them, Mr Fussle. Lady Fritterly. Mr Fussle, might I ask you to take this cup of tea to Mrs Allmash? Mr Germsell, it would be too kind of you to hand Mrs Gloring the cake. I want you to tell me all about your religion; perhaps it may help us, you know, to find the religion of the future, which we are all longing for.
My friend's name is Ali Seyyid, Lady Fritterly. Lady Fritterly. Pray excuse my stupidity, Mr Allyside, and come and sit near me. Lord Fondleton, find Mrs Gloring a chair. Mrs Gloring. I am sure I don't know. I think Lady Fritterly called him a codger. Lord Fondleton. Ah, he looks like it, and a rum one at that, as our American cousins say. Mrs Gloring. Hush! Mr Germsell is going to begin.
You will not hear the sound as though coming from a distance, but it will seem rather like a muffled drumming taking place inside your head, scarcely perceptible at first, when its volume will gradually increase. Lord Fondleton. It is something like a woodpecker inside of one. Drygull. Not a word, my dear madam, if you please. Lord Fondleton. That's not like a woodpecker. Mrs Gloring.
The result is, that she went to Islington House on Tuesday, and came to me on Thursday, and created a perfect furor on both occasions; so now she is fairly started. Mrs Allmash. How wonderfully clever and fortunate you are, dear! What is her name? Lady Fritterly. Mrs Gloring. Mrs Allmash. Oh yes; everybody was talking about her at the Duchess's last night.
With due deference to Mr Rollestone, I think we shall be far better employed in cultivating our taste, than in probing our own organisms in the hope of discovering forces which may enable us to apply a perfectly unpractical system of morality, to a society which has every reason to be satisfied with the normal progress it is making. Mrs Gloring.
No; it seems to me more like tic-tic-tic. Mrs Allmash. How too tiresome! I can't hear anything. I suppose it is on account of the rumble of the carriages. Mrs Gloring. No; what? Lord Fondleton. The beating of my own heart. Can't you guess for whom? Mrs Gloring. No. Perhaps the Rishi makes it beat. Lord Fondleton. Dear Mrs Gloring, you are the Rishi for whom Mrs Gloring. Hush! Lady Fritterly.
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