A COMING EVENT.
(During the twenty minutes' noon intermission, the young ladies of Madame Finisher's boarding-school discuss educational matters, and a luncheon of buns, éclairs, etc., sent in by a fashionable baker.)
Edith (munching a cream puff).—Oh, what a lovely spread! Nell, you're the boss treater!
Nell.—Hear, hear! A graduate, and she says "boss"—
Edith.—Oh, fudge; madame isn't around!
Nell.—It's a good thing she isn't, with these méringues in view.
Edith.—That baker is a darling.
Clara.—How does he get them in, anyway?
Nell.—Why, he has an extra tray quite at the bottom of his basket, that no one suspects.
Edith.—Yes; isn't it jolly? I wouldn't care a sou for the méringues if we were allowed to buy them.
Nell.—Edith, you are really depraved.
Edith.—Oh, I just love to be fast!
| Clara.— Nell.— |
Oh, how Perfectly dreadful! |
Clara.—Oh, girls; mama bought my graduation dress yesterday!
Nell.—Oh, what is it?
Clara.—Indian muslin and Valenciennes; just too lovely for any use!
Edith.—I got mine last week. I've a white silk slip, and an Irish point skirt over it.
Clara.—Well, Connery told mama Indian muslin was quite comme il faut for graduation.
Edith.—Comme il faut nothing. It may do well enough for your blonde infantile beauty; but I need something more substantial.
Nell.—Madame wants us to dress simply.
Edith.—A fig for madame! I'll wear what I like.
Clara.—My dress is to have ten narrow flounces, edged with Valenciennes—real lace, too; and the bodice is all lace inserting sewed together.
Edith.—Just listen; and she calls that simple!
Nell.—The front of mine is all lace, too; and the back just quantities of soft, fluffy drapery.
Edith.—Shall you wear sashes?
Clara.—Oh, yes; mine is surah, five yards.
Nell.—Mine is awfully wide satin ribbon.
Edith.—I think I'll have moiré.
Nell.—Aren't you crazy for the evening to come?
Edith.—Oh, perfectly wild!
Clara.—I'm to have quantities of flowers.
Edith.—Madame wants us to have a "profusion."
Nell.—My brothers, and papa and mama each send me a bouquet, and Sister May's fiancé says nothing short of a basket will satisfy him.
Clara.—Each one of my cousins will send me a bouquet; and, of course, papa and mama.
Edith.—Well, I am going straight to Klunder's, and order as many as I want.
Clara.—Oh, I wouldn't do that for anything!
Edith.—Why not? It's no worse than boning everyone you know for them.
Clara (haughtily).—I never "bone."
Nell.—Edith, you do have such a harsh way of putting things.
Edith.—I don't care—it's the way they are.
Clara.—I'm worried to death over my essay.
Edith.—Oh, the essay is all right. Miss Barton took mine yesterday, and is going to look it over and touch it up.
Nell.—What is the subject?
Edith.—"Is Civilization a Failure?"
Nell.—Goodness—what could you find to say about that?
Edith.—Oh, I treat it humorously, you know!
Clara.—Mine is "Watching and Waiting."
Edith.—A lovely sentimental thing, I suppose.
Clara (with dignity).—Madame says it has many beautiful thoughts.
Edith.—Oh, madame has got it?
Clara.—Yes; she wants to revise it a little.
Nell.—Mine is the French essay, you know. "Mam'selle" is helping me on it.
Edith.—Well, then, girls, we're safe anyway. I don't care a rap for the examinations.
Nell.—Why?
Edith.—Oh, they're to be private, you know; and we'll be coached through all right.
Nell.—I hope so.
Clara.—Oh, yes; madame says they will not be very severe, as she considers we have reviewed so often.
Nell.—I have to sing, you know.
Edith.—Don't you dread it?
Nell.—Not a bit. Why, I have practised all winter on my piece, and Prof. Staccato says I've got every little shade now.
Clara.—My drawing, "The Angelus," is to be exhibited, you know. Mr. Crayon took it home last night.
Edith.—What for?
Clara.—Oh, he thought the figures slanted a little, and the perspective wasn't quite true, and the sky needed different shadings, otherwise it was lovely!
Edith.—I shan't show my water-color.
Nell.—Why not?
Edith.—Oh, there's a castle in it, and it tips frightfully!
Clara.—Couldn't you call it the "Leaning Tower of Pisa?"
Edith.—I might do that, only it's a winter scene.
Nell.—I don't believe anyone would notice.
Clara.—No; put it in a lovely frame, and it'll be all right.
Nell.—What are you going to have for a graduation present?
Clara.—A sapphire bracelet. I've been just sick for one.
Edith.—I'm going to have a diamond ring.
Nell.—And I—a saddle-horse.
Edith.—Isn't it just lovely to finish, anyway?
Clara.—Yes, indeed. I am just crazy to come out in society.
Nell.—It is such a satisfaction to feel there is nothing more to learn.
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