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.—It is quite a brilliant house.

(raising her lorgnette).—Yes, rather.

.—Quantities of men.

.—A ballet, my dear. Freddie Gauche has his glass on you, and Captain Goldbraid is in the Sanger box.

.—They'll both be here directly.

.—Doubtless. I hope you'll remember that a New York house and a Newport villa are considerably pleasanter as places of residence than a frontier fort.

.—Dear mama, I should not be your daughter if I did not.

.—I think I may trust you, this being your fourth season.

(all animation).—Isn't this perfectly lovely!

.—You like the opera, Miss Débutante?

.—Oh, yes; I just adore it.

.—It is quite nice, I think myself.

.—Do you really, now? I am so glad (laughs ecstatically and shrugs her shoulders).

.—Oh, yes; I do—the lights, you know, and the ballet and—and the pretty girls in the boxes.

(stacking her fan and shaking it playfully).—Oh, you men are so amusing!

(delighted to be taken for a man).—Oh, no, really, 'pon honor.

(rushing her vinaigrette up to her nose, and shaking her head coquettishly).—Oh, but you are!—I insist upon it!

.—You don't like the ballet, Professor X.?

.—Not especially.

.—I can quite understand your feelings. I find that I enjoy those operas best where the ballet divertissement is wanting—and yet I am no prude.

. (glancing at her corsage and shoulder straps).—I am sure of that, Mrs. Societe. You are a woman of too liberal natural endowments to be a prude.

.—Oh, really, Professor X., you are quite too kind.

(a heavy swell).—A charming ballet!

.—Charming, indeed! Coppélia is even more delicious than La Sylvie of last year.

.—Oh, ya-as—quite the hit of the season; fellows all talking about it in the smoking-room.

.—Ah, then, its success is assured!

.—Ya-as; I cahnt understand, you know, how some people object to this sort of thing, you know.

.—It is generally a case of "honi soit qui mal y pense." Look at Swanilda, now! every movement is the perfection of grace and rhythmic motion.

(angrily).—I tell you, I won't stand it much longer. I've sneezed three times already.

(soothingly).—Go out into the smoking-room for a little change.

.—I won't! This is the worst seat in the box; but it's a seat, and I'll hang on to it.

(remonstrating behind her fan).—My dear, do—

.—I won't—whatever it is! I pay a big price for this box, and every time we come, I'm ousted out of a comfortable position by these young Darwins who pay a dollar to get in, and then sponge seats out of their box friends.

.—I don't know what you can expect. We should be a laughing stock if our box were empty.

.—You and the two girls and myself fill it very comfortably, I think.

.—Naturally, you know, the girls attract their society friends.

.—I guess it's the seats that attract. Anyhow, I'll give that young De Winkle to the end of this song to skip before I—

.—Oh, you will not say—

.—I will say: "Be good enough to change seats with me;" and I'll let him cool the back of his neck in this draught as I've been doing for the last hour! There, I'm going to sneeze again!

.—How very odd it must seem to sit down there—among the people.

.—You wouldn't like it.

.—I should stay away. What in the world, now, do you suppose they come for?

.—Oh, possibly the music, you know.

.—There is such a pretty girl up there in that box. I wish I dare look at her through my glass.

.—Do, by all means. She's come to be looked at.

(finishing a survey of the house).—A fine show all round.

.—Yes; the monkeys are jumping bravely to-night.