Mr
Boncassen, with all his country's pluck and pride, was proving to
a knot of gentlemen round him on the verandah, that such treachery
in the weather was a thing unknown in his happier country. Miss
Boncassen had to do her best to console the splashed ladies. 'Oh
Mrs Jones, is it not a pity! What can I do for you?'
'We must bear it, my dear. It often does rain, but why on this
special day should it come down in buckets?'
'I never was so wet in all my life,' said Dolly Longstaff, poking
in his head.
'There's somebody smoking,' said the Countess angrily. There was a
crowd of men smoking out on the verandah. 'I never knew anything
so nasty,' the Countess continued, leaving it in doubt whether she
spoke of the rain, or the smoke, or the party generally.
Damp gauzes, splashed stockings, trampled muslins, and features
which have perhaps known something of rouge and certainly
encountered something of rain may be made, but can only, by
supreme high breeding, be made compatible with good-humour. To be
moist, muddy, rumpled and smeared, when by the very nature of your
position it is your duty to be clear-starched up to the
pellucidity of crystal, to be spotless as the lily, to be crisp as
the ivy-leaf, and as clear in complexion as a rose,--is it not, O
gentle readers, felt to be a disgrace? It came to pass, therefore,
that many were now very cross.
Pages:
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449