Mrs. Perse-Weaver. A violin solo is always popular. And my daughter Cecilia will be delighted to play for you. She has been taught by the best——
Cecilia. Oh, Mother, I couldn't, really! I've never played in public. I know I should break down!
Lady Damp. In that case, my dear, it would be certainly unwise on your part to attempt it.
Mrs. P.-W. Nonsense, Cecilia, nonsense. You won't break down, and it wouldn't matter in the least if you did. They wouldn't notice anything. And it will be such excellent practice for you to get accustomed to a platform, too. Of course she will play for you, dear Mrs. Flittermouse!
Mrs. Flitt. It will be so good of you, Miss Weaver. And it won't be like playing to a real audience, you know—poor people are so easily pleased, poor dears. Then I will put that down to begin with. (She makes a note.) Now we must have something quite different for the next—a reading or something.
Lady Honor Hyndleggs. A—nothin' humorous, I hope. I do think we ought to avoid anythin' like descendin' to their level, don't you know.
Mr. Lovegroove. Might try something out of Pickwick. "Bob Sawyer's Party," you know. Can't go far wrong with anything out of Dickens.
Miss Diova Rose. Can't endure him myself. All his characters are so fearfully common; still—(tolerantly) I daresay it might amuse—a—that class of persons.
Mrs. Flitt. I must say I agree with Lady Honor. We should try and aim as high as possible—and well, I think not Dickens, dear Mr. Lovegroove. Tennyson might do perhaps; he's written some charmin' pieces.
Mr. Lovegr. Well, fact is, I don't go in for poetry much myself. But I'll read anythin' of his you think I'm equal to.