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?