# The Tailor-Made Girl/Around the Mahogany

AROUND THE MAHOGANY.
(The bad quarter-of-an-hour in the drawing-room.)
Pompon fille.—Oh, mama; I am so distressed!
Pompon mère.—Why, my love; what has happened?
Pompon fille.—I am sure that odious Mr. Smithers over there is going to take me out.
Pompon mère.—What makes you think so?
Pompon fille.—Mrs. Grundy just now spoke to him; and he looked straight at me, and said "delighted, of course!"
Pompon mère.—Console yourself, my dear; I'll make it up to Mrs. Grundy.
Pompon fille.—How, pray?
Pompon mère.—Oh, when I return this dinner, I'll ask Griggs, whom she abhors, and pair her off with him!
Young Mrs. Mariée.—You take me out, mon ami!
Jack Cavendish.—Are you sure?
Young Mrs. Mariée.—Quite; it's the price of my coming.
Jack Cavendish.—How good you are!
Young Mrs. Mariée.—Don't be too much flattered; it was a choice between dear little Smithers and yourself.
Mrs. Grundy (to Lord Bantling, at her right).—Do look at the expression on my husband's face!
Lord Bantling (raising his glass).—H'm—really, now, it is hardly one of unclouded happiness, you know!
Mrs. Grundy.—He is simply in despair.
Lord Bantling.—Oh, hardly so bad as that, is it?
Mrs. Grundy.—Worse, even. He is beginning a two-hour dinner with only that dreadfully heavy Mrs. Pompon to speak to.
Lord Bantling.—He has that charming Mrs. Mariée on his left.
Mrs. Grundy.—He has that charming Mrs. Mariée's back on his left—while she toys with Mr. Cavendish's soft speeches.
Lord Bantling.—Ah, I see!
Young Mrs. Mariée.—Watch dear Mrs. Pompon! Doesn't she glare deliciously at her caro sposo?
Jack Cavendish.—Rather, yes.
Young Mrs. Mariée.—Poor old soul! What a Caudle he'll get tonight.
Jack Cavendish.—Well, really, the old party is making rather an exhibition of himself, you know, with the widow!
Young Mrs. Mariée.—Of course he is; and that's what Mrs. Lightmourning is leading him on for.
Jack Cavendish.—I don't quite follow.
Young Mrs. Mariée.—She wants to spoil Mrs. Grundy's dinner if possible.
Jack Cavendish.—Oh, do enlighten me!
Young Mrs. Mariée.—Why, Mrs. Grundy has not even given her a place at Mr. Grundy's left.
Jack Cavendish.—And does she want it?
Young Mrs. Mariée.—Unquestionably! They have quite an "affair" on just now, you know!
Lord Bantling (over the cigars).—I say, Cavendish, you're a lucky dog! You've had that clever little Mrs. Mariee all through this infernally dull dinner.
Jack Cavendish.—H-m—it was deuced hard, though, doing the devoted to her, when that daisy-eyed little Pompon was showing her lovely blushes every time I got a chance to look at her.
Lord Bantling.—Oh, that's the way the wind sets, is it? I don't go in for the ingénue, and that sort of thing.
Jack Cavendish.—Well, you had the mature in your charming hostess!
Lord Bantling.—H-m—so I had— very mature, too. A little of Mrs. Grundy, my dear boy, goes a great way.
Mrs. Grundy (in the drawing-room, before the men come in).—Between ourselves, Helen, his lordship is an insufferable bore.
Mrs. Mariée.—You don't say so? I find him charming!
Mrs. Grundy.—He was distant all through dinner, and so hard to talk to.
Mrs. Mariée.—How odd! To me he always appears quite the reverse!
Mrs. Grundy.—En passant, my dear, Jack Cavendish stole a good many glances at Nellie Pompon, in the other room.
Mrs. Mariée.—Did he? I didn't notice them! It must have been when I was taking wine with Lord Bantling!
Pompon père (later, in the drawing-room; laboriously).—I was saying, my dear Mrs. Grundy, that no—er—hospitality is so—er—altogether charming, you know, as a—er—little dinner like this, where all the-er—company is so—er—you know, felicitously selected, and—er—so judiciously disposed.