First Chaperon (to second ditto). How sweet it is of your eldest girl to dance with that absurd Mr. Clumpsole! It's really too bad of him to make such an exhibition of her—one can't help smiling at them!
Second Ch. Oh, Ethel never can bear to hurt any one's feelings—so different from some girls! By the way, I've not seen your daughter dancing to-night—men who dance are so scarce nowadays—I suppose they think they have the right to be a little fastidious.
First Ch. Bella has been out so much this week, that she doesn't care to dance except with a really first-rate partner. She is not so easily pleased as your Ethel, I'm afraid.
Second Ch. Ethel is young, you see, and, when one is pressed so much to dance, one can hardly refuse, can one? When she has had as many seasons as Bella, she will be less energetic, I dare say.
[Mr. Boldover has at last succeeded in approaching Miss Roundarm, and even in inducing her to sit out a dance with him; but, having led her to a convenient alcove, he finds himself totally unable to give any adequate expression to the rapture he feels at being by her side.
Mr. B. (determined to lead up to it somehow). I—I was rather thinking—(he meant to say, "devoutly hoping," but, to his own bitter disgust, it comes out like this)—I should meet you here to-night.
Miss R. Were you? Why?
Mr. B. (with a sudden dread of going too far just yet). Oh (carelessly), you know how one does wonder who will be at a place, and who won't.
Miss R. No, indeed, I don't—how does one wonder?
Mr. B. (with a vague notion of implying a complimentary exception in her case). Oh, well, generally—(with the fatal tendency of a shy man to a sweeping statement)—one may be pretty sure of meeting just the people one least wants to see, you know.