AN IMPORTANT EVENT.
Miss Thirdseason.—Well, my dear, how d'ye do? I thought I'd run over and cheer you up a little for to-night.
Miss Débutante.—You're ever so good. I'm awfully nervous.
Miss Thirdseason.—Oh, nonsense, you needn't be. How many bouquets so far?
Miss Débutante.—Only eighteen.
Miss Thirdseason.—It's rather early yet—from five to seven you'll get plenty.
Miss Débutante.—I do hope so. Clara Newcome said she had thirty-nine last week! I shall die of mortification if I don't have as many as that!
Miss Thirdseason.—You needn't worry! In any event, your début will be more brilliant than hers.
Miss Débutante.—Oh, do you think so?
Miss Thirdseason.—Yes, indeed. It handicaps a girl fearfully to come out with an elder sister, not even engaged.
Miss Débutante.—I suppose it does.
Miss Thirdseason.—Oh, my, yes! Then your family connection is so large. You'll have plenty of dinners, teas, and routs given for you, and that brings the men to the coming-out party, you know.
Miss Débutante.—Does it?
Miss Thirdseason.—Yes, indeed. They'll be out in full force to-night. On general principles, a girl's début is apt to be successful. You see the girls all come to talk sweet to you, to size you up, as the men say, and the married belles come and pet you to discover how dangerous you're going to be, and, with the male contingent you're sure to have, there's really nothing to fear to-night.
Miss Débutante.—You quite reassure me.
Miss Thirdseason.—You'll wear white, of course?
Miss Débutante.—Oh, yes. White tulle and lilies of the valley. Simple, you know, but just too sweet for any use.
Miss Thirdseason.—I suppose so. That's your rôle just now—sweet simplicity. By the way, are you going in for anything?
Miss Débutante.—Going in for anything?
Miss Thirdseason.—Yes; are you going to be horsey or musical or literary or athletic or æsthetic, or any of that sort of thing?
Miss Débutante.—Oh, I don't know. Ought I?
Miss Thirdseason.—Well, no; I don't believe I would. I did, but not for long. Dickey Hunt was leading all the germans when I came out, and he was the best parti of the winter, so I went in for dancing. He married Nell Carew at Easter; and, at any rate, it's too warm in the spring season to dance much, so I rather dropped any specialty.
Miss Débutante.—I just love to dance.
Miss Thirdseason.—Yes, I know; "buds" all dote on dancing—it's when you get along in your second season that you like to " sit it out " on the stairs and look down at the dancers and sigh a little, and remember when you were as enthusiastic as "those happy girls inside." That's awfully taking.
Miss Débutante.—To whom?
Miss Thirdseason.—Oh, you goosey. To the man who is sitting it out with you, of course.
Miss Débutante.—Oh, yes. But about going in for something—you really don't think you would, then?
Miss Thirdseason.—Oh, no; not this year, anyway. There don't seem to be as many sets as there used to be. You have to know everything a little, nowadays, and nothing very well.
Miss Débutante.—That's a comfort.
Miss Thirdseason.—Isn't it! Why, I talked half an hour the other evening on chiar' oscuro, and I can't even spell the word.
Miss Débutante.—How ever did you do it?
Miss Thirdseason.—Oh, I let him talk and tell me all about it, just listening, you know, in an awfully interested little way, and occasionally making a comment or asking a question that I stole directly from him.
Miss Débutante.—But didn't he suspect you?
Miss Thirdseason.—Not he, indeed! He told Pinkie Talbot the same evening he was surprised at my thorough knowledge of the technique of art. That is our compensation.
Miss Débutante.—What?
Miss Thirdseason.—Oh, to get on, you know, and impress the men on so little capital. But I really must go.
Miss Débutante.—Oh, don't yet. I've lots to ask you. Do you know I'm afraid I shan't know what to talk about to-night.
Miss Thirdseason.—Oh, yes, you will. Did you see the Greek play?
Miss Débutante.—No.
Miss Thirdseason.—Oh, well, that's old, at any rate, but you'll find plenty to say in answering compliments, and that sort of thing.
Miss Débutante.—Oh, I hope so.
Miss Thirdseason.—Well, good-by. Oh, do you know I've got an awfully fetching new gown, but I'm going to be magnanimous, and not wear it to-night.
Miss Débutante.—You're awfully good.
Miss Thirdseason.—Am I not? And now, really, good-by. I'll see you to-night.
Miss Débutante.—Oh, yes. Well, good-by, if you must go.
Miss Thirdseason.—Good-by. It's awfully comfortable to have the worry all over and be engaged.
Miss Débutante.—I suppose so. Good-by.
