CHAPTER IV.--_The End.

The poor Markiss was so horryfied at his brillyant sucksess, that Charles’s sanguinery corpse aunted his bed-side, and he died within a month, a leetle munth, as _Amlet_ says, of the dredful ewent, and Charles married his Widder. But, orful to relate, within a werry short time Charles was a sorrowin’ Widderer, with a nincum of sum £10,000 a year; and having purchased a Itallien titel for a hundred and fifty pound, it is said as he intends shortly to return to hold Hingland; and as the lovely Countess of Belgravier is fortnetly becum a Widder, and a yung one, it is thought quite posserbel, by them as is behind the seens, like myself, for instance, that before many more munce is past and gone, there will be one lovely Widder and one andsum Widderer less than there is now; and we is all on us ankshushly looking forred to the day wen the gallant Count der Wennis shall lead his lovely Bride to the halter of St. George’s, Hannower Squeer, thus proving the truth of the Poet’s fabel,--

“The rank is but the guinny’s stamp, The Footman’s the man for a’ that.”

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AWKWARD.--_Miss Fillip_ (_to Young Gentleman, who has taken her in to dinner at Olympia Manor_). “You say that you don’t shoot, hunt, fish, drive, or ride, and that you hate cycling. Now, what on earth are you staying here for?”

_Young Gentleman_ (_languidly_). “Because I can’t afford to live anywhere else in the winter.”

[_Then it flashes across Miss F. that she is talking to a younger son of the house._

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FOR CHARITY’S SAKE

SCENE--_The Park._ TIME--_The Fashionable Morning Hour._ LUI _and_ ELLE _discovered enjoying a_ causerie.

_Elle._ Oh, it will be quite gay! Admission five guineas and ten pounds a seat at the tea-tables. The Organising Committee have rented the Anthropological Gardens.

_Lui._ Any kind of entertainment?

_Elle._ Oh, yes. We have got Mr. Barnstormer for a recitation and Di Flop for one of her great songs with a chorus for nothing, and Scrapini, the violinist, is to bring his violin.

_Lui._ Also for nothing?

_Elle._ Of course. Such an excellent advertisement for them. And then there are to be lamps on the artificial lake and fireworks--small ones that won’t frighten the horses outside--on the terrace. Two guineas a seat for places in front of the fireworks, and five shillings entrance-fee to the avenue of Japanese lanterns.

_Lui._ Well, you ought to rake in the shekels. And what is it for? What’s the name of the Charity?

_Elle._ I quite forget. But you will find it on the tickets.

[_The talk drifts to other topics._

* * * * *

UNLUCKY SPEECHES

“What a lot of people there were at the Wortleburys’ last week--and yet how dull it was!”

“Yes, dear. But it was much brighter after you left.”

* * * * *

_She._ “Oh, Mr. Sorney, I am so grateful to you for your thoughtfulness in writing so promptly to tell me of poor Harry’s accident!”

_He._ “Pray don’t mention it--I was very glad indeed to have the opportunity of doing it!”

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_Host._ “You’ll have a nice drive home!”

_Guest._ “Yes; that’s the best of it!”

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SOME EMOTIONS BUT NO MORAL

_Lady Angleby_ (_mother of pretty débutante_). Really! It’s positively painful. It ought to be stopped.

_Elderly Countess_ (_with no daughters_). Eh, what? Tooth hurtin’? Have it out, my dear. Or try mind healin’. It’s very expensive, but Susan Southwater tells me----

_Lady A._ Oh, Susan! She’s always got some bee in her bonnet. Though how any self-respecting bee _could_! But I wasn’t talking about teeth. It’s this wretched paper. Listen to this. “One of the prettiest _débutantes_ I saw was Miss Nora Angleby, whose mother, Lady Angleby, was wearing nothing but a string of pearls----”

_E. C._ Have ’em up for libel, my dear. I wouldn’t stand it.

_Lady A._ “--nothing but a string of pearls with her white frock, and looking so delightfully young. Everyone was saying that they might be sisters.” Isn’t it too silly?

_E. C._ H’m! I dunno. You do look youngish sometimes. As for the frock--don’t you think it was a _leetle_ too--for the part, you know?

_Lady A._ Oh, did you think so? It’s the way they are cutting them this year for girls. But don’t you think they ought to be pulled up?

_E. C._ The frocks, my dear, or the dressmakers, or the girls?

_Lady A._ No, no, the editors. I’m in this wretched rag week after week.

_Mrs. Thrope (also mother of pretty débutante)._ So am I. It’s a perfect scandal.

_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?

_Lady A._ Oh, money, of course. Her money. It’s the root of all her idylls. She’d pay anything they asked to get them published.

_E. C._ H’m! Did she tell you so?

_Lady A._ My dear, of course not. But I happen to--oh, do listen to this. I do think they might draw the line somewhere. It wouldn’t be so bad if they would keep it select. But really! _That_ woman!

_E. C._ Well, who is it?

_Lady A._ Mrs. Judesheim! A whole paragraph about her and her diamonds. _Her_ diamonds!

_Mrs. T._ Not the Bridge woman?

_Lady A._ Positively, my dear, though one would have thought after that last little _exposé_----

_Mrs. T._ Well, really! I wonder who they’ll put in next!

_E. C._ Anyone, my dear Edith--anyone who’ll pay. That’s the way it’s done. Susan wants to dispose of her articles, and, accordin’ to you, she pays, and in they go. Mrs. Whatshername has got daughters and she wants to dispose of _them_. So, she pays, and in _they_ go. Quite simple, ain’t it?

_Lady A._ Oh, but I’m _sure_ you are wrong.

_Mrs. T._ I don’t think you _can_ be right. We haven’t come to _that_ yet.

_E. C._ _You_ haven’t, my dear, of course. You buy the paper because you--have to read Susan’s articles. Never do myself. Hate readin’ articles, specially by people I know. But that’s just the difference between you two and this Judesheim woman. She _likes_ to see her name in print. And then, her husband’s a business man, and she knows the value of a good advertisement.

_Lady A._ I _can’t_ believe it.

_E. C._ Well, we’ll ask Susan when she comes. She knows all about it. She ought to be--ah, here she is. How do, my dear?

_Lady Susan Southwater_ (_enters hurriedly_). You dear people. I _am_ so ashamed. I simply _had_ to finish my article for next week, and it wouldn’t come.

_Lady A._ We were just talking about your articles. I particularly liked that last one in to-day’s paper.

_Mrs. T._ So did I. But I think--no, I don’t like it quite as well as the one _last_ week. That was too delightful. So witty.

_Lady S._ Glad you liked it. Well, are we going to cut for partners?

_E. C._ In a minute. But we want to ask you about this old rag of yours. Do people pay to have their names in it?

_Lady S._ Tradespeople? _They_ do, of course.

_E. C._ No, no. Ordinary people like us.

_Lady S._ Oh, well--but what makes you ask?

_Lady A._ Well, the fact is, Edith and I don’t like the way they _will_ put our names in, and we were just saying that; and then to read a paragraph about that Mrs. Judesheim actually, and the whole thing seemed so vulgar, and we were wondering whether anyone really did pay.

_Lady S._ Oh, but my dear, of course they do, though only the Editor knows who. But if you like I’ll talk to him about you two, and say that you would prefer not to have your names----

_Lady A._ Oh, please no, it _really_ isn’t worth it. No, as far as I am concerned personally----

_Mrs. T._ It seems to me it would be a pity to make a fuss about it. After all, it doesn’t do one any harm. So please don’t trouble, darling.

_Lady S._ My dear, it’s no trouble. I shall be seeing him this evening, anyhow. So I’ll just tell him----

_Lady A._ I beg that you will do nothing of the kind. I particularly dislike asking favours from people of that class. Don’t you think we might begin our rubber?

_Lady S._ Perhaps that _would_ be the best solution. Unless you like to pay him _not_ to put your names in. You might do that, you know--for a change.

_Lady A._ You don’t mean to imply----

_Lady S._ My dear, not for worlds! Some do, and some don’t. But of _course_ you and Edith----

_E. C._ Don’t! Let’s cut.

[_They cut for partners in silence._

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THE HEIGHT OF MAGNIFICENCE--_Sir Gorgius Midas_. “Hullo! where’s all the rest of yer gone to?”

_Head Footman._ “If you please, Sir Gorgius, as it was past two o’clock, and we didn’t know for certain whether you was coming back here, or going to sleep in the City, the hother footmen thought they might go to bed----”

_Sir Gorgius._ “‘Thought they might go to bed,’ did they? A pretty state of things, indeed! So that if I’d a’ ’appened to brought ’ome a friend, there’d a’ only been you four to let us hin, hay!”

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THE GREAT KNEE-BREECHES QUESTION

(_A Young Blood, in trouble about his legs, soliloquises before his pier-glass_)

Well now, this _is_ a doosid nuisance, what?… S’pose I’ve got to face the question, now that all the rest of our set have made up their minds.… _Hate_ havin’ to make up my mind! It’s rotten, simply _rotten_--I don’t mean my mind, but havin’ to worry over things like this--I never was so dreadfully worried, except perhaps over the shape of that tie last season, what?… Why can’t they put it off a little while longer? But no, they’re all goin’ to wear them next Friday at that supper at the Carlton, and Stella Pardedew’s comin’ too--wish I hadn’t asked her, she _can_ be so cuttin’, when she likes … I’m sure, if I’ve measured myself once, I’ve measured myself fifty times, and I can’t make ’em more than ten and three-eighths round the calf.… I know she’ll ask whether it’s three calves or one, when she sees me comin’ along … rotten joke, too!… Here, let me try once more--where’s that tape?… No, I don’t seem to spring to ten and a-half inches, anyhow, and I walked the whole length of Bond Street this afternoon, what?… They don’t look so bad in gaiters and ridin’-breeches, or under a motor-coat, and when I’m golfin’, too, I can double the thick top ends of my stockin’s down and make quite a decent show, but these silk things, what!… They’ll be sayin’ somethin’ about advertisements for Anti-fat--that rotter Bertie will, _I_ know, just because his are fifteen inches round.…

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DE GUSTIBUS NON DISPUTANDUM.--_Adonis_ (_after his guests have departed_). “By Jove, Maria, what a handsome woman Mrs. Jones is! She looks better than ever!”

_His Wife._ “Ahem! Well, it may be my bad taste, but I own I have hitherto failed to detect the beauty of Mrs. Jones. Now, _Mr._ Jones is good-looking, if you like!”

_Adonis._ “_Jones good-looking!_ Come--hang it, Maria, Jones is a very good fellow, and all that; but I must say I’ve never perceived his _good looks_!” &c., &c.

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THE LATEST CRAZE

SCENE--_A salon anywhere._ TIME--_Afternoon tea. Hostess addressing her guests._

_Hostess._ Yes, I think this is so much more amusing than “Books,” and “Songs.” One gets so tired of a lady with toy banners in her hair calling herself “Under Two Flags,” and a man insisting that he is perfectly made up for “The Absent-Minded Beggar” when he wears a label of--“Quite blind. Give me a penny,” and keeps his eyes open.

_First Lady Friend._ Certainly. Well, do you think my “Curiosity” was good? An old boot belonging to my great grandfather.

_Hostess._ Perfectly delightful. So nice to have a great grandfather, and one who wore boots.

_Second Lady Friend._ Well, my “Curiosity” is not quite so personal. This is an old work-box that has been in our family for the last hundred years.

_Chorus._ How interesting!

_Second Lady Friend._ And it was bought, so I have been told, at the Exhibition of 1851.

_Professor Grumbles_ (_interposing_). Dear lady, I fancy you have made a mistake in your dates. Now, if the box was in your family a century, and it came from the Exhibition of 1851, it must----

_Hostess_ (_interposing_). Oh, my dear Professor, pray don’t worry us with statistics. Now, what have _you_ got?

_Professor Grumbles_ (_producing a bag_). Well dear lady, my little contribution to the general hilarity of the occasion will be caused by my friend in the bag. It is a specimen--a very rare specimen--of the South African puff-adder. Most doctors will tell you that the sting of this reptile is dangerous. (_He produces from the bag a black, vicious-looking snake._) In fact, most people will say that the sting, or rather a bite, is certain death. But be reassured, my good friends. In spite of this universal belief, I may say that, without expressing an absolutely definite opinion, _I don’t think so_!

[_“Curiosity” tea disperses rapidly and in some confusion._

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THE LADIES’ COLUMN

ABOUT TOWN.

Several ladies have chosen this week for taking walks. As I was popping down Bond Street a few days ago I nearly ran into sweet Lady B., who was dressed in the softest brown, with a dear little robin redbreast perched lovingly in her _toque_, which was a veritable _dernier cri_. There is a beautiful story in connection with the little dickey, as Lady B. believes that it is the same little feathered darling she used to feed with crumbs on her window-sill last winter! It is such a joy to her tender heart to feel that her little pensioner will now never be parted from his benefactress--while the _toque_ lasts.

A few minutes later, while I was returning the Countess of A.’s bow, I caught my foot in the _marabout_ of one of our most unconventional and witty American visitors, who is, by the way, the heroine of the following delightful little story. While staying at a country house, not a hundred miles from a certain little white village with red roofs, the house party was taken to a local flower show. At dinner that evening, charming Miss X., who was a member of the party, was asked by her partner if she took an interest in gardening. “I guess I’m only interested in strawberry leaves!” was the witty answer.

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BOOKS TO MATCH ALL DRESSES.

All lovers of literature will be delighted to hear that Miss Cumberland Smith’s latest work, “Chained by Circumstance,” is to be issued in tooled green leather to match the dainty little belts which are being shown this week by Mr. Peter Jay. This book would look particularly well with a white satin Liberty _robe_, a stole of Indian work, and the hair _coiffured_ in the _mode retroussé_, which is now, we are glad to see, once more with us.

Another little gem for book lovers is certainly Lady M.’s wonderfully realistic “Revelations of Revolt,” bound in crimson and black. No brunette should be without it. To go with this beautiful volume we should strongly recommend a simple Empire costume of crimson _panne_, with deep frills of accordion-pleated white chiffon, edged with black _ruching_, with sprays of crimson chrysanthemums falling to the feet.

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MAKING CONVERSATION.--_He._ “I suppose you have been everywhere during the season?”

_She._ “No season. Nothing to read. Nothing to see.”

_He._ “Then there is nothing to talk about?”

_She._ “No, nothing. Can’t you suggest a novelty?”

_He_ (_brightening up_). “Yes--the weather.”

[_Left talking._

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A FORLORN HOPE.--_The Dowager._ “Now, you’ve got all the girls off your hands so successfully, except poor Maria, you ought to give _her_ a chance.”

_My Lord._ “Yes--a--give a ball--a--or a garden party--a----”

_My Lady._ “Oh, poor Maria’s not worth a ball--nor even a garden party. We might give an _afternoon tea_!”

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COUNTRY-HOUSE PETS (_The morning-room at Glen-Dimity Castle, after lunch. Mr. Belamy Tabby is singing “Hi tiddley hi ti, hi, ti, hi!”_).--_The Duchess._ “How clever and amusin’ your friend, Mr. Whatshisname is!--_Tabby_, isn’t it! So good-lookin’ and gentlemanlike too! Quite a godsend on a rainy day like this, when all the men are out shootin’ or fishin’, or something! Is he married?”

_Noble Hostess._ “Oh yes; but what’s so nice about him, he doesn’t mind bein’ asked without his wife. Those sort of persons so often expect their wives to be asked too, and that’s such a bore, you know!”

_Her Grace._ “Yes; how sensible of him! I must get him to come to us at Brasenose Towers!”

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AN UNSELFISH MAN.--_Colonel Slyboots, M.P._ “So sorry to leave you all alone at Mudboro’, my love; but duty will compel me to be at my post at Westminster for the Autumn Session, you know. So dull in town without you, too.”

_Mrs. S._ “Poor dear! Then I’ll accompany you, my angel!”

_Colonel S._ “Oh, on no account. Wouldn’t hear of it!”

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SOCIETY SMALL TALK.--“On the young lady’s exclaiming ‘How well these rooms are lighted!’ the young man might reply, ‘Yes, by the light of Beauty’s eyes, and you are lending your share, which is not a small one, to the general illumination, the brilliancy of which is almost too dazzling to a poor mortal like myself, to whom it is well that moments such as these are brief, else the reaction would be destructive to my peace of mind, if not altogether fatal to it.’”

_Young Peter Piper has got his lesson well by heart, and is only waiting, to begin, for the lovely Miss Rippington to exclaim_, “How well these rooms are lighted!” _which, unfortunately for him, they are_ NOT.

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HONOURS DIVIDED.--_Mr. Goodchild._ “Yes, I do feel in good spirits this evening. My boy has passed his examination!”

_The Earl._ “Well, I don’t see anything in that. So has mine.”

_Mr. Goodchild._ “Er--Indian Civil?”

_The Earl._ “No--Bankruptcy!”

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MRS. BOREHAM AT HOME (_Amateur Theatricals_).--_Sir Pompey Bedell._ “Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Boreham, on a most successful entertainment! I have never set foot inside a theatre myself, I am proud to say, nor attended even _private_ theatricals before--such things are not in my line! But I can honestly assure you that I have rarely seen histrionic ability more consummate, or a dramatic performance more exceptionally complete in every respect, than that which it has been our truly enviable privilege to witness this evening!”

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AN AMENDMENT.--_Vera._ “What must I do about the Billsomes’ dance? I dislike the Billsomes, and I don’t want to go.”

_Phillis._ “Well, say you regret you are unable.”

_Vera._ “Wouldn’t it be more truthful to say I am unable to regret?”

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IT’S AN EAST WIND THAT BLOWS NOBODY GOOD.--“Here comes the carriage, Maud! Fancy having to go and pay calls in such weather! It’s enough to give one one’s death of cold!”

“Worse than that, mother! Everybody’s sure to be _in_!”

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ONE WAY OF FASTING.--_Miss Kate_ (_to Mr. Joskin_). “You don’t know how glad I am that Lent has begun.”

_Mr. Joskin._ “Why?”

_Miss Kate._ “Because there are no more stupid dinner-parties and balls. We only go to theatres and restaurants now.”

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NOT THE WORD.--_Young Lady_ (_in the drawing room_). “Just listen! I can hear the gentlemen laughing. I believe they tell all their good stories directly we’re out of the dining-room.”

_Experienced and rather severe Matron._ “_Good_ stories, dear! No--‘good’ is not the word.”

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AN EYE FOR ESSENTIALS.--_Mamma_ (_house-hunting for the Season_). “It’s a good house for a dance, Emily!”

_Emily._ “The rooms are rather small, aren’t they?”

_Mamma_ (_who knows how matches are made_). “Yes; but what a capital _staircase_!”

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PRIG-STICKING.--_Little Prigson._ “Oh! as for Grigson, he’s distinctly the most objectionable little prig in all England; but his sistah’s _quite_ the nicest girl I ever met.”

_Aunt Eliza._ “Dear me! What sweeping assertions! You _might_ have had the decency just to make the traditional exception in favour of _present company_!”

_Cousin Maud._ “Yes; in _both_ cases, you know!”

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SOME DISTINCTIONS AND A DIFFERENCE.--_Hostess has just been showing Guest the picture gallery and other glories of the ancient Baronial Halls, at the same time discoursing of the family greatness. Guest_ (_pointing to row of busts_). “And are these celebrities or just relations?”

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LIMITED.--_She_. “Yes; that stupid man who came with the Smiths trod on the duchess’s train, and it tore right across, and the dear old thing never said a word. Wasn’t it _sweet_ of her?”

_He._ “Well, there was only one word she _could_ have said!”

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FIVE O’CLOCK TEA-CLASSES

CONVERSATIONAL TEAS twice a week OFFERED by a Lady of high social position at her home to strangers, Americans, Colonials and foreigners, for whom pleasant introductions are desirable; private interviews given to ladies who desire coaching on matters of high English etiquette and fashion.--_Advertisement in morning paper._

This seems to be a new variation. We all know the blameless A.B.C. tea patronised by country cousins after a hard day’s work shopping or matinéeing in town.

There is the institution known as a “high tea” (why _high_?) for those whose indigestion is robust enough to negotiate six o’clock beef and tannin from the pot.

A year or two ago we were deluged with “book teas” and “play teas,” or “song teas,” and other nursery devices for educating the middle-aged and teaching the old idea how to make wild shots at far-fetched rebuses.

For dipsomaniacs there is, we regret to say, the D. T.; and the strict Q. T. for persons of a secretive turn of mind.

And now a lady of high social position is in the market with bi-weekly “Conversational Teas.” Is the accent on the conversation or the tea, we would ask? Are there any gratuities expected? Is anything given away with a pot of tea? Do you bring your own mug? Does the lady-autocrat at the tea-table give marks for good behaviour? Does she “turn” you if you have failed to learn your small-talk correctly? Do you get a diploma (or a degree) at the end of the course if you pass the cake with honours? And is the “colonial” who comes out at the bottom of the tea-class rewarded with a wooden spoon? All these, and many other questions, present themselves to would-be students of “high English etiquette.”

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GUESSES AT TRUTH.--_Mr. Laidislaw._ “Handsome woman our hostess--don’t you think? By the bye, what do you suppose her age is?”

_Miss St. Cyr._ “Well, I should fancy, what the illustrated biographies call ‘Present Day!’”

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“L’INVITATION À LA VALSE.”--_She._ “But you don’t know my name! What have you put down on your cuff?”

_He._ “Oh, I’ve put down ‘Pearl Necklace.’”

_She._ “But there are lots of pearl necklaces here!”

_He._ “Yes; but I’ve also put down ‘Small and rather tight’--I mean the _necklace_, you know!”

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THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH.--_Todeson_ (_who has grown his moustache, dropped his G’s, and got into Society again_). “Fact is Society’s gettin’ much too mixed, Duchess. It’s not amusin’, after spendin’ a pleasant evenin’, to find you’ve been hobnobbin’ with a shopkeeper, or sittin’ next his wife at dinner, you know!”

_Her Grace._ “Oh, dear me! Why, my _husband’s_ a shopkeeper, Mr. Todeson. He keeps that great bric-à-brac warehouse in Conduit Street!--and the toy-shop at the corner, that’s mine!--and the confectioner over the way, that’s my mother, the Duchess of Hautcastel!”

[_Todeson feels he has been puttin’ his foot in it._

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OF THE WORLD WORLDLY.--“There go the Spicer Wilcoxes, mamma! I’m told they’re dying to know us. Hadn’t we better call?”

“Certainly not, dear. If they’re dying to know us, they’re not worth knowing. The only people worth _our_ knowing are the people who _don’t_ want to know us!”

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BREAKING THE ICE.--_He._ “I’ve got to take you in to dinner, Miss Travers--and I’m rather afraid of you, you know! Mrs. Jollibois tells me you’re very clever!”

_She_ (_highly amused_). “How absurd! I’m not a _bit_ clever!”

_He_ (_with sigh of relief_). “Well, do you know, I _thought_ you weren’t!”

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A SUBTLE DISTINCTION.--_Jones_ (_who is of an inquiring mind_). “Ain’t you getting _tired_ of hearing people say, ‘That is the beautiful Miss Bellsize!’?”

_Miss Bellsize_ (_a professional beauty_). “Oh, no. I’m getting tired of hearing people say, ‘Is _that_ the beautiful Miss Bellsize?’”

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AN EQUIVOCAL COMPLIMENT.--“I’m so glad to meet _you_ here, Captain Spinks--and _so_ glad you’re going to take me in to dinner.” (_Captain S. is delighted._) “You’re about the only man in the room my husband isn’t likely to be jealous of!”

[_Captain Spinks’s delight is no longer unmixed._

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BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE