Hostess—Thank you so much! So good of you to come.
Another Guest—Yes, we must go. I've had a perfectly dear time.
Hostess—So sorry you must go. So good of you to come. Good night.
IN THE DRESSING-ROOM
Chorus of Guests—Wasn't it awful?—Such low people!—Why did we ever come—Parvenue!
Elocutionist—I was all right, wasn't I, mama? You noticed they never clapped a bit until I'd walked the whole length of the room to my chair. It just showed how wrought up they were. You nearly mixed me up, though, prompting me in the wrong place; I—
Hostess (throwing herself on sofa as door closes on last guest)—Well, I'm completely done up! (To Poor Relative)—Maria, run up to my room, and get my red worsted bed-slippers. I can't stand these satin tortures a minute longer. Entertaining is an awful strain. It's so hard trying not to say the wrong thing at the right place. But, then, it certainly went off beautifully. I could tell every one had such a good time!