Oh, it’s slow when we all sit round in state,
Eyes cast down and faces long and straight;
Prim and staid, our manners quite correct;
All approach to frivolousness checked.
I assume a pedantic pose,
But at heart I feel—
I’m the Chaperon, gay and frisky, etc.
“Oh, that’s awfully pretty!” cried Marjorie, as they tried it over to the accompaniment of Helen’s banjo. “Why, the play will be a howling success if we keep on like this.”
“Indeed it will—a howling, screaming success.”
“Now, Jessie, it’s your turn. Let’s see what a Scullery-maid can do at making a song for herself.”