Afterward I had another ice, not because I wanted it, not a bit, but the young man from Aldershot said he was so thirsty.
Then I saw a youth with long hair and badly-fitting clothes. I thought he was going to sing, but he wasn't; oh no! much worse! he recited. When I heard the first words I thought I should faint (imitating):
"Been out in the lifeboat often? Aye, aye, sir, oft enough.
When it's rougher than this? Lor' bless you, this ain't what we calls
rough."
How well I knew the lines! Wasn't it cruel? However, I had one hope left—my "Lost Soul," a beautiful poem, serious and sentimental. The æsthetic youth was so tedious that the young man from Aldershot asked me to come into the conservatory, and really I was so vexed and disappointed that I think I would have gone into the coal-cellar if he had asked me.
We went into the conservatory and had a nice long talk, all about——well, it would take too long to tell you now, and besides it would not interest you.
All at once mamma came in, and I felt rather frightened at first (I don't know why), but she was laughing and smiling. "O, Mary," she said, "that æsthetic young man has been so funny; they encored 'The Lifeboat,' so he recited a very comic piece of poetry, that sent us all into fits of laughter, it was called 'The Fried Sole,' a parody on 'The Lost Soul' that you used to recite."
Alas! my last hope was wrecked; I could not read after that! I believe I burst into tears. Anyhow, mamma hurried me off in a cab, and I cried all the way home and—and—I forgot to say good-night to the young man from Aldershot. Wasn't it a pity?
And you see that's why I don't like to recite anything to-night. (Some one from the audience comes up and whispers to her). No! really, have I? How stupid! I'm told that I've been reciting all this time. I am so sorry; will you ever forgive me? I do beg pardon; I'll never do it again! (Runs out.)