Punch (103.1892)

100

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[September 3, 1892.

FEELING THEIR WAY.

(A Study in the Art of Genteel Conversation.)

Scene—The Drawin -room of a Margate Hotel. Time—evening.
Mrs. Abdleigh {of Balaam), and Mrs. Allbutt {of Brondes-
bury), are discovered in the midst of a conversation^ in which
each is anxious both to wipress the other, and ascertain how far
she is a person to be cultivated. At present, they have not got
beyond the discovery of a common bond in Cookery.

Mrs. Allbutt. You have the yolks of two eggs, I must tell you ;
squeeze the juice of half a lemon into it, and, when you boil the
butter in the pan, make a paste of it with dry flour.

Mrs. Ardleigh. It sounds delicious—but you never can trust a
Cook to carry out instructions exactly.

Mrs. All. I never do. Whenever I want to have anything
specially nice for my husband, I make a point of seeing to it myself.
He appreciates it. Now some men, if you cook for them, never
notice whether it's you or the Cook. My husband does.

Yes, that's very true. I suppose the Elections have put a stop to
most things ?

Mrs. All. There never was much going on. J 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 ex-
pected to be at Homburg this year.

Mrs. All. Then you would have met Lady Neuraline Menthol.
She toas ordered there, I happen to know.

Mrs. Ard. Really, you don't say so ? Lady Neuraline ; "Well,
that's the first I've heard of it. {It is also the first time she has
heard of her, but she trusts to be spared so humiliating an admission.)

Mrs. All. It's a fact, I can assure you. You know her, perhaps?

Mrs. Ard. {who ivould dearly like to say she does, if she only dared).
Well, I can hardly say I exactly know her. I know of her. I've
met her about, and so on. {She tells herself this is quite as likely to
be true as not.)

Mrs. All. {who, of course, does not know Lady Neuraline either).

Mrs. Ard. I wonder how Ah, she is a most delightful

you find time to do it. I'm ,,. I I j ; i / x, person — requires knoiving,

sure I should never- \W\. liiiiiff:f , : | • , | f l ^ j)//V/ don't you know.

Mrs. All, Oh, it takes time, e f l HI hM j Wi / I f _l .. S/M - Mrs. Ard. So many in her

of course—but what does that IIII I S 10lWJ i H§M» - position do, don't they ? {So

matter when you've nothing k?f|I|| ffii||M ij | lit ™w|lm:i| iiii Iff ■^'/■■■ff&tf - far as she is concerned—they

to doF Did I mention just ^WiWi'i• f- I I' ' mWt 11 mill '1M ^ all do). You'd think it was

a small pinch of Cayenne ^iffllliflli* '''11 V I ^ 'si^'f*^___ haughtiness—but it's really

pepper? — because that's a , j] !i 11. j jjji j I'j j $ %frm****»»>'<*»~ only manner,

great improvement! \ ^SKKMm ij j |jj |j Ilj'; fijlfj 11. $ Rfem.'-C'/'1' * vsaffjk . Mrs. All. {feeling that she

Mrs. Ard. I tell you what |, ,;'/• «BWyHi! r| .m!!U'f i |S/j ■i^CT&f IFjHl'^l can go ahead with safety now).

I like Cayenne pepper with, T , . 11 \J^tg& Ilj " } j j| I I I 11 f^^M I have never found anything

better than anything — and -/..V (HBD^Hl P$ w\1 •' • ii: ; : \T W of that sort in Lady Netjba-

that'seggs. \ \,\ \ 'vWF Q\lm\flW\ :ti I i r' 1,1' i % P\ line myself {which is per -

Mrs. All. {with elegant AWWBr* J IfMilS ' H 'Bffilif t jNUftMi fectly true). She's rather odd

languor). I hardly ever eat ; >V 'A"'-/^<^^i^'< ' ^M^ir^' '! - ^Kwm^^m and flighty, but quite a dear,

an egg. Oysters, now, I'm V • ^^^^MUmf^^^^^^^^MIn^J^Mk^) By the way, how sad it is

very fond of—fried, that is. «S^W|T7 - -V ' IS , \ T WmiMM milI'd U"Sf^^^^c:^BBB8liM8K> w) about those poor dear Chtjt-

Mrs. Ard. They're very f^^^^L /|V{ i5' ^ ^1H^(B»M * nets—the Countess, don't you

nice done in the real shells. ^^^^^^^Aw~\x)>Mm^w^^F^^^W^s^U^/^^^ Hi know!

Or on scollops. We have sil- n%^x<sg^^»v:^-^1^ ywm If Iff ^^^Ip^1—^r^^WmlW^^t^^M^^^^ Mrs. Ard, Ah {as if she
ver—or rather—{with a mag- <^S^>^s- ^j^ffe> (n ;tJ|| | lllr " Tr ' ^Tjf^^S^^Mtf'1 ' knew all the rest of the family),

nanimous impulse to tone down ^^^^^^^^^^^m^^^m,IImV ^Wj^^^^jj^^^^^^^^l '// I don't know her at all.

her splendour), silver-plated ^^^^^^^^^^^m^m^MWSm^^^^KBm^^^^^-^^^ Mrs. All. Such a sweet

ones. ^mi^^m^'^^^1- ^^^^^m^^^A^i^wMw^^^^^^^^^^^M' woman—but the trouble she's

Mrs. All. How funny—so ^S^St^^Zhad with her eldest boy, Lord

have we! [Both women feel h'^^^^^^^^^m^S^,)^^^^^^^^^^^ Mango! He married quite

an increase of liking for one "~ ^|^BHUfraMlil^^^^™3ra^l!il beneath him, you know, some

another.) I like them cooked Z^S^^^^^^^^^^^^^^y /H '\y^^^^^K^^^^^^^/^^'RE\ girl from the provinces—not a

in milk, too. ^'^p^.'^l^jg^^^^25"- ////y^1' \ ^ IH^^^w^Si^pSSll ll«lAra^^!l^^^^^^ffi^N^^^ ll ™f^\ coun'ty"fam^y ffirl even.

[The first barrier being satis- ^m^^^?^ ' // '"'^H \ WMMSam^^^^^^^^r^i Mrs. Ard, {shocked). Dear,

factorily passed, they pro- ^^^iid^Kt^^^S-^ //7j';M' \ jw^^aHfflffil^m^Mw^^^^^ dear! not a county family !

ceed, as usual, to the subject ^^Z^^feu^ ^ sjl.^/lrff 1 ^^^fnliffi^M^mBMBlP'^Sf' TO Mrs. All. No; somebody

of ailments. ^IM^M^JKSW mWsH^BBSm'k W&w quite

common—I forget the

Mrs. Ard, My doctor does :J$ Y' ll f^^^m^^^^^^^^^^^^^F*! name, but it was either GnEn-

do me good, I must say—he IfJ' ^ ^^S^^^^^^S^^^"^^^ kin or Onion, or something of

never lets me get ill. He 1 fl ' /'J/[ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ that sort. I was told they had

just sees your liver's all dI|flHp^ WW^)? ' j^^^^^^^^"^ been in Chili a good while,

right, and then he feeds you <lfiSM^ib /C^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^&^EZEZr Poor Mango never had much

up. y Wf^Y^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^r^^^^^^^^^ taste, or he would never have

Mrs. All. That's like my 111! luW^^^^w-S^^^^^^^^/^^^^^ got mixed up with such a set.

doctor; he always tells me, lp \Y\^-g\^--Axrro__^^===^-=^_. Anyway, he's _ got himself

if he didn't keep on constantly VHt— ^n^0 a -terrible pickle. I hear

building me up, I should go « j)ear ,jear j n0f a county family!" Capsicums is actually to be

all to pieces in no time. That's sold to pay his debts.

how I come to be here. I always run down at the end of every
Season.

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 thanusual this year).

Mrs. Ard. You don't say so! Capsicums! Gracious !
Mrs. All. Yes, isn't it a pity! Such a lovely old place as it was,
too—the most comfortable house to stay at in all England ; so beau-
tifully warm ! But it's dreadful to think of how the aristocracy
are taking to marry out of their own set. Look at the Duke of
Dragnet—married a Miss Duckweed—goodness only knows where he
picked her up! but he got entangled somehow, and now his people
are trying to get rid of her. I see so many of these cases. Well,
I'm afraid I must wish you good evening—it's my time for retiring.
{Patronisingly.) I've quite enjoyed this conversation—such a
pleasure in a place like this to come across a congenial companion!

Mrs. Ard. {fluttered and flattered). I'm sure you're exceedingly
kind to say so, and I can say the same for myself. I hope we may
become better acquainted. [To herself, after Mrs. Allbutt has
departed.) I've quite taken to that woman—she's so thoroughly
the lady, and moves in very high society, too. You can tell that
from the way she talks. What's that paper on the table? {She
picks up a journal in a coloured wrapper.) Society Snippets, the
Organ of the Upper Ten. One Penny. The very thing I wanted.
It's such a comfort to know who's who. {She opens it and reads
sundry paragraphs headed "Through the Keyhole.") Now how
funny this is! Here's the very same thing about the dulness of