TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 7 
us did us well, and withstood prodigious wear and 
tear. 
The night before our departure we had a “ Good- 
bye ” dinner and, as a great treat, were taken to a 
music-hall. Of course it was not my first visit, but 
really, if I have any say in the matter again, it will be 
the last. Some genius — a man, of course— says, some- 
where or other, women have no sense of humour — I 
wonder if he ever saw a crowd of holiday -making 
trippers exchanging hats — and I am willing to concede 
he must be right. I watched that show unmoved the 
while the vast audience rocked with laughter. 
The piece-de-resistance of the evening was provided 
by a “ comic ” singer, got up like a very -much-the- 
worse-for-wear curate, who sang to us about a girl 
with whom he had once been in love. Matters 
apparently went smoothly enough until one fateful 
day he discovered his inamorata’s nose was false, and, 
what seemed to trouble him more than all, was stuck 
on with cement. It came off at some awkward 
moment. This was meant to be funny. If such an 
uncommon thing happened that a woman had no nose, 
and more uncommon still, got so good an imitation as 
to deceive him as to its genuineness in the first place, 
it would not be affixed with cement. But allowing 
such improbabilities to pass in the sacred cause of 
providing amusement, surely the woman’s point of 
view would give us pause. It would be so awful for 
her in every way that it would quite swamp any 
discomfort the man would have to undergo. I felt 
far more inclined to cry than laugh, and the tran- 
