[The first barrier being satisfactorily passed, they proceed, as usual, to the subject of ailments.
Mrs. Ard. My doctor does do me good, I must say—he never lets me get ill. He just sees your liver's all right, and then he feeds you up.
Mrs. All. That's like my doctor; he always tells me, if he didn't keep on constantly building me up, I should go all to pieces in no time. That's how I come to be here. I always run down at the end of every Season.
Mrs. Ard. (feeling that Mrs. Allbutt can't be "anybody very particular" after all). What—to Margate? Fancy! Don't you find you get tired of it? I should.
Mrs. All. (with dignity). I didn't say I always went to Margate. On the contrary, I have never been here before, and shouldn't be here now, if my doctor hadn't told me it was my only chance.
Mrs. Ard. (reassured). I only came down here on my little girl's account. One of those nasty croupy coughs, you know, and hoops with it. But she's almost well already. I will say it's a wonderful air. Still, the worst of Margate is, one isn't likely to meet a soul one knows!
Mrs. All. Well, that's the charm of it—to me. One has enough of that during the Season.
Mrs. Ard. (recognising the superiority of this view). Indeed one has. What a whirl it has been to be sure!
Mrs. All. The Season? Why, I never remember one with so little doing. Most of the best houses closed—hardly a single really smart party—one or two weddings—and that's positively all!
Mrs. Ard. (slightly crushed, in spite of a conviction that—socially speaking—Balham has been rather more brilliant than usual this year). Yes, that's very true. I suppose the Elections have put a stop to most things?