Mrs. Ard. (feeling that Mrs. ALLBUTT can't be "anybody very particular" after all). What—to Margate? Fancy! Don't you find you get tired of it? I should.
Mrs. All. (with dignity). I didn't say I always went to Margate. On the contrary I have never been here before, and shouldn't be here now, if my doctor hadn't told me it was my only chance.
Mrs. Ard. (reassured). I only came down here on my little girl's account. One of those nasty croopy coughs, you know, and hoops with it. But she's almost well already. I will say it's a wonderful air. Still, the worst of Margate is, one isn't likely to meet a soul one knows!
Mrs. All. Well, that's the charm of it—to me. One has enough of that during the Season.
Mrs. Ard. (recognising the superiority of this view). Indeed one has. What a whirl it has been to be sure!
Mrs. All. The Season? Why, I never remember one with so little doing. Most of the best houses closed—hardly a single really smart party—one or two weddings—and that's positively all!
Mrs. Ard. (slightly crushed, in spite of a conviction that—socially speaking—Balham has been rather more brilliant than usual this year.) Yes, that's very true. I suppose the Elections have put a stop to most things?
Mrs. All. There never was much going on. I should rather have said it was Marlborough House being shut up that made everything so dull from the first.
Mrs. Ard. Ah, that does make such a difference, doesn't it? (She feels she must make an effort to recover lost ground.) I fully expected to be at Homburg this year.