You go up (with our usual easy elegance of manner) and talk to Miss
Smith in a corner. 'Oh, Mr. Snob, I'm afraid you're sadly satirical.'
That's all she says. If you say it's fine weather, she bursts out
laughing; or hint that it's very hot, she vows you are the drollest
wretch! Meanwhile Mrs. Botibol is simpering on fresh arrivals; the
individual at the door is roaring out their names; poor Cacafogo is
quavering away in the music-room, under the impression that he will be
LANCE in the world by singing inaudibly here. And what a blessing it is
to squeeze out of the door, and into the street, where a half-hundred of
carriages are in waiting; and where the link-boy, with that unnecessary
lantern of his, pounces upon all who issue out, and will insist upon
getting your noble honour's lordship's cab.
And to think that there are people who, after having been to Botibol on
Wednesday, will go to Clutterbuck on Friday!
CHAPTER XIX--DINING-OUT SNOBS
In England Dinner-giving Snobs occupy a very important place in society,
and the task of describing them is tremendous. There was a time in my
life when the consciousness of having eaten a man's salt rendered me
dumb regarding his demerits, and I thought it a wicked act and a breach
of hospitality to speak ill of him.
But why should a saddle-of-mutton blind you, or a turbot and
lobster-sauce shut your mouth for ever? With advancing age, men see
their duties more clearly.
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