She then explained that their side had won the match by two goals to one, and that the winning goal had been scored by Philip; and my lord remarked that a devilish good game was polo, and it was a great pity we had allowed the Cup to go to America, and we must send a good team and plenty of ponies and get it back again; in which the Siddons’-cap-of-real-lace concurred with great spirit, and affirmed her conviction that there had been negligence somewhere.
“Oh, we shall just muddle along until Uncle Jonathan annexes us, and then we shall begin to wake up a bit, I daresay.”
And everybody laughed loudly, of course, at the caustic Ambassadorial Humor.
But it wasn’t polo they had been playing, says little Miss Newnham, with her passion for exactitude. Of course it wasn’t, my dear. Then why didn’t Mary say so? Her Tact again, my dear. It always bores a real live ex-ambassador to have to stand corrected; and football is so plebeian that polo sounds nicer; and it really didn’t matter a straw, so there was no use in being tediously literal, was there?
You don’t see the point of the argument, and you still think, my dear, it was Mary’s duty to make it clear that the game was football. Sorry not to agree with you, Miss Newnham; but we are sure we shall have the sanction of all parents and guardians when we lay down the axiom that it is a chief part of the whole duty of Woman never to bore an ambassador.
Had Mary been tediously literal she would probably not have received an invitation to Hurlingham any afternoon she cared to come during the season, which she promptly accepted with becoming gratitude. And then, before the Ex-Ambassador could take up his hat and rise from the sofa, she had asked the important question, Could Lord Warlock be so very kind as to give her advice how to get Philip into Parliament?
There was a question for you! Give her advice, mark you, young ladies. There was a great deal in that. The Ex-Ambassador fixed his monocle, of course, with a little pardonable magniloquence of bearing, like any other ex-ambassador would have done; looked about as wise as you make ’em, and said in the sharp dry manner that he had really copied from his father who had copied it from Mr. Rogers, although that was a secret that lay with him in his grave—and what did the Ex-Ambassador say?
He said the best way to get into Parliament is to see that you keep out of it....
How very deep and subtle; quite worthy of Mr. Punch at his best, say all parents and guardians.
We can’t see the point of the reply, say the dreadfully literal young ladies of Newnham and Girton.