I reelly don't know what _to_ think!
_The Confidante_. Well, I wouldn't lose heart--with the moon drawin'
on to the full, as it is!
_A Seaside Siren_ (_conscious of a dazzling complexion--to a
suburban Ulysses_). I wish I could get brown--I think it's so awfully
becoming--but I never can!
_Ulysses_. Some people _are_ like that. On'y turn _red_, you know,
specially the nose--catches 'em _there_, y'know!
_The Siren_. I'm obliged to you, I'm sure! Is that meant to be
personal?
_Ulysses_. Oh, I wasn't thinking of _you_ when I said that.
_The Siren_. You're very complimentary. But do tell me--am _I_ like
that? (_She presents her face for his inspection_.) Candidly, now.
_Ulysses_ (_conscientiously_). Well, I don't notice anything
particular--but, you see, colours don't show up by moonlight.
[_The Siren coldly intimates that her Mother will be
waiting supper for them._
_An Habitue_. Some people will tell yer, now, that Margit's _vulgar_.
They must be precious 'ard to please, that's all! I'm as partickler
as what most are, and I can assure yer if there was anythink o' _that_
sort about, I shouldn't come down 'ere reglar, season after season,
like I do!
_His Companion_.
Pages:
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27