SOME EMOTIONS BUT NO MORAL
Lady Angleby (mother of pretty débutante). Really! It’s positively painful. It ought to be stopped.
Elderly Countess (with no daughters). Eh, what? Tooth hurtin’? Have it out, my dear. Or try mind healin’. It’s very expensive, but Susan Southwater tells me——
Lady A. Oh, Susan! She’s always got some bee in her bonnet. Though how any self-respecting bee could! But I wasn’t talking about teeth. It’s this wretched paper. Listen to this. “One of the prettiest débutantes I saw was Miss Nora Angleby, whose mother, Lady Angleby, was wearing nothing but a string of pearls——”
E. C. Have ’em up for libel, my dear. I wouldn’t stand it.
Lady A. “—nothing but a string of pearls with her white frock, and looking so delightfully young. Everyone was saying that they might be sisters.” Isn’t it too silly?
E. C. H’m! I dunno. You do look youngish sometimes. As for the frock—don’t you think it was a leetle too—for the part, you know?
Lady A. Oh, did you think so? It’s the way they are cutting them this year for girls. But don’t you think they ought to be pulled up?
E. C. The frocks, my dear, or the dressmakers, or the girls?
Lady A. No, no, the editors. I’m in this wretched rag week after week.
Mrs. Thrope (also mother of pretty débutante). So am I. It’s a perfect scandal.
Lady A. Are you? I don’t see your name anywhere.
Mrs. T. If you look—isn’t there an account of the Hersham House Ball?
Lady A. Oh, yes, here you are. “Mrs. Thrope, who goes everywhere, was in great good looks and her well-known magenta frock.” You’ll have to get a new one, darling, after that. “She was chaperoning her daughter, Miss Anne Thrope, another débutante, who was quite the beauty of the——” Well, really! What can it matter to anyone whether Anne’s a beauty or not, poor darling!
Mrs. T. She did look rather sweet, didn’t she?
Lady A. What? Oh, ah, yes. Quite pretty, I thought. But to have it put in print like that for any Dick, Tom, or Harry to read! It does away with all the privacy of life.
E. C. Who does read it—besides you two?
Mrs. T. Who? The suburbs, of course. Susan tells me the circulation in Bayswater is perfectly enormous. Of course I only get it to read her things.
Lady A. So do I. Not that they are worth reading. They always seem to me to be so banale.
Mrs. T. Yes, aren’t they? And so absolutely without point.
E. C. What makes ’em print ’em, then?
Lady A. Oh, money, of course. Her money. It’s the root of all her idylls. She’d pay anything they asked to get them published.
E. C. H’m! Did she tell you so?
Lady A. My dear, of course not. But I happen to—oh, do listen to this. I do think they might draw the line somewhere. It wouldn’t be so bad if they would keep it select. But really! That woman!
E. C. Well, who is it?
Lady A. Mrs. Judesheim! A whole paragraph about her and her diamonds. Her diamonds!
Mrs. T. Not the Bridge woman?
Lady A. Positively, my dear, though one would have thought after that last little exposé——
Mrs. T. Well, really! I wonder who they’ll put in next!
E. C. Anyone, my dear Edith—anyone who’ll pay. That’s the way it’s done. Susan wants to dispose of her articles, and, accordin’ to you, she pays, and in they go. Mrs. Whatshername has got daughters and she wants to dispose of them. So, she pays, and in they go. Quite simple, ain’t it?
Lady A. Oh, but I’m sure you are wrong.
Mrs. T. I don’t think you can be right. We haven’t come to that yet.
E. C. You haven’t, my dear, of course. You buy the paper because you—have to read Susan’s articles. Never do myself. Hate readin’ articles, specially by people I know. But that’s just the difference between you two and this Judesheim woman. She likes to see her name in print. And then, her husband’s a business man, and she knows the value of a good advertisement.
Lady A. I can’t believe it.
E. C. Well, we’ll ask Susan when she comes. She knows all about it. She ought to be—ah, here she is. How do, my dear?
Lady Susan Southwater (enters hurriedly). You dear people. I am so ashamed. I simply had to finish my article for next week, and it wouldn’t come.
Lady A. We were just talking about your articles. I particularly liked that last one in to-day’s paper.
Mrs. T. So did I. But I think—no, I don’t like it quite as well as the one last week. That was too delightful. So witty.
Lady S. Glad you liked it. Well, are we going to cut for partners?
E. C. In a minute. But we want to ask you about this old rag of yours. Do people pay to have their names in it?
Lady S. Tradespeople? They do, of course.
E. C. No, no. Ordinary people like us.
Lady S. Oh, well—but what makes you ask?
Lady A. Well, the fact is, Edith and I don’t like the way they will put our names in, and we were just saying that; and then to read a paragraph about that Mrs. Judesheim actually, and the whole thing seemed so vulgar, and we were wondering whether anyone really did pay.
Lady S. Oh, but my dear, of course they do, though only the Editor knows who. But if you like I’ll talk to him about you two, and say that you would prefer not to have your names——
Lady A. Oh, please no, it really isn’t worth it. No, as far as I am concerned personally——
Mrs. T. It seems to me it would be a pity to make a fuss about it. After all, it doesn’t do one any harm. So please don’t trouble, darling.
Lady S. My dear, it’s no trouble. I shall be seeing him this evening, anyhow. So I’ll just tell him——
Lady A. I beg that you will do nothing of the kind. I particularly dislike asking favours from people of that class. Don’t you think we might begin our rubber?
Lady S. Perhaps that would be the best solution. Unless you like to pay him not to put your names in. You might do that, you know—for a change.
Lady A. You don’t mean to imply——
Lady S. My dear, not for worlds! Some do, and some don’t. But of course you and Edith——
E. C. Don’t! Let’s cut.
[They cut for partners in silence.
HAVING A GOOD TIME
Mamma. “It’s very late, Emily. Has anybody taken you down to supper?”
Fair Débutante (who has a fine healthy appetite). “Oh yes, mamma—several people!”
Hostess. “I’ve got such a cold to-day. I feel quite stupid!”
Prize Idiot (calling). “I’ve got a bad cold too; but I don’t feel particularly stupid!”
Hostess. “Ah, I see you’re not quite yourself!”
“FLATTERING UNCTION”
Mrs. Noovoriche. “Yes, my dears, I gave a hundred guineas for this gown! Pretty figure, isn’t it?”—Chorus (after due inspection). “Simply awful!”
Fitz-Noodle (who rather fancies himself as the “Black Prince”). “By Jove, Miss Renneslaer, how awfully charming!”
Fair American. “My! What are you? Canned Lobster?”
THE HEIGHT OF MAGNIFICENCE
The Height of Magnificence—Sir Gorgius Midas. “Hullo! where’s all the rest of yer gone to?”
Head Footman. “If you please, Sir Gorgius, as it was past two o’clock, and we didn’t know for certain whether you was coming back here, or going to sleep in the City, the hother footmen thought they might go to bed——”
Sir Gorgius. “‘Thought they might go to bed,’ did they? A pretty state of things, indeed! So that if I’d a’ ’appened to brought ’ome a friend, there’d a’ only been you four to let us hin, hay!”
AT A LADIES’ CLUB
Guest (who rather fancies himself as a fascinator). “But although you are all known as men-haters, aren’t there now and again occasions when you find it very hard to live up to your reputation?”
KINDLY MEANT
Young Noodle. “Oh, do have another sandwich, Miss Swan. You have such a long way to eat—I mean such a long way to go!”
Little Titmuss (just told off to take the younger Miss Long in to supper, quite forgets which of the two is the younger). “Er—er—may I have the pleasure—er—of—er—taking the longer Miss Young—I mean-the lunger Miss Yong—that is——”
[Becomes incoherent.