The Tailor-Made Girl/Over an Ice
OVER AN ICE.
[There is a hospitality in gracious acceptance as well as in kindly bestowal.—Anon.]
Mr. De Lyle.—Quite a splendid affair, Miss Pompon!
Miss Pompon.—Oh, Mr. De Lyle, you are really quite too awfully funny.
Mr. De Lyle.—No, now, really, you know, 'pon honor!
Miss Pompon.—You mean, possibly, quite splendid from the Hobsonby side.
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, now, really, Miss Pompon, you are quite too awfully sarcastic.
Miss Pompon.—It is really quite too amusing to see Mrs. Hobsonby beam.
Mr. De Lyle.—Her face certainly shines, but I fahncied—
Miss Pompon.—Oh, you are really quite too funny—
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, no, 'pon honor—
Miss Pompon.—Oh, but you really are. I don't wonder she's warm, though, in that velvet gown.
Mr. De Lyle.—Yes, royal purple, too. Do you know I really think the poor soul wanted to wear a crown, too.
Miss Pompon.—Oh, Mr. De Lyle, don't, please; I shall certainly choke.
Mr. De Lyle.—No, really, now, 'pon honor—
Miss Pompon. —Just fahncy, you know, a crown surmounting that wonderful coiffure—
Mr. De Lyle.—Really, I think it would quite cap the climax.
Miss Pompon.—Be quite a crowning feat.
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, come, now, Miss Pompon, I hardly thought that of you, you know.
Miss Pompon.—Oh, it is all really quite too amusing.
Mr. De Lyle.—Do have another ice, Miss Pompon.
Miss Pompon.—Oh, thanks awfully.
Mr. De Lyle.—Do you know I don't think Hobsonby looks what you might call happy—
Miss Pompon.—No, he seems quite out of his element.
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, Miss Pompon, really now—oh, come now—this is too much—
Miss Pompon.—Why, what did I say?
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, really now, you know—why you know he made all his money in fish.
Miss Pompon.—Oh, you don't say so; and I said he was quite out of his element—
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, really, this is quite too awfully absurd—
Miss Pompon.—Isn't it all quite too amusing?
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, I say, Miss Pompon—
Miss Pompon.—Now, Mr. De Lyle, don't be quite too awfully funny—
Mr. De Lyle.—No, 'pon honor; but I say—we ought to have plenty of good terrapin for supper—
Miss Pompon.—Oh, Mr. De Lyle, where is my fan? I shall certainly need reviving—
Mr. De Lyle.—You see, he can get it at wholesale, you know—
Miss Pompon.—Oh, you are really such a wit!
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, I say, Miss. Pompon; have you noticed the pictures in the room over there?
Miss Pompon.—Yes. I didn't see any Corots or Meissoniers.
Mr. De Lyle.—No?
Miss Pompon.—The pictures looked as if they were done by the yard you know, and cut off.
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, really, you are so awfully clever, you know.
Miss Pompon.—There's a picture of Miss Hobsonby in the library, done in oil.
Mr. De Lyle.—Like a sardine, you know.
Miss Pompon.—Oh, really, now, you know, Mr. De Lyle, if you talk like that, I shall make you go and dance with her.
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, Miss Pompon, that penance would be quite too dreadful.
Miss Pompon.—Do you stay for the cotillon?
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, no, indeed!
Miss Pompon.—Nor we. We go directly after supper.
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, so do I, you know.
Miss Pompon.—I told mama it was quite too much to expect us to stay for the cotillon.
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, quite, you know. Supper must be served by now; may I—
Miss Pompon.—Yes, you may take me down, and remember, Mr. De Lyle, you are not to be quite so awfully funny.
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, no, 'pon honor—
[An hour and a half later, the twain, emerging, encounter their hostess.]
Miss Pompon.—Oh, Mrs. Hobsonby, your ball has been such a success. You are really quite to be congratulated, you know.
Mr. De Lyle.—Oh, yes, it is really quite too nice, altogether.
