Punch, or the London Charivari
Volume 105, July 15TH 1893
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
AN AFTERNOON PARTY.
... "The room is full of celebrities. Do you see that tall womanin black, talking to the little old lady? That is Mrs. Arbuthnot—awoman of some importance—and the other is Charley's Aunt.The sporting-looking young man is Captain Coddington, who is'in town' for the season."
"And who are the two men, exactly alike, tall and dark, who aresmoking gold-tipped cigarettes, and talking epigrams?" I asked.I like to know who people are, and the person in the silver dominoseemed well-informed.
"The uninvitable in pursuit of the indigestible," murmured Lord Illingworth.
"Those are Lord Illingworth, and Lord Henry Wotton.They always say exactly the same things. They are awfullyclever, and cynical. Those two ladies talking together are knownas Nora and Dora. There's rather acurious story about each of them."
"There seems to be one abouteveryone here," I said.
"Well, it seems that Nora and herhusband did not get on very well. Hethought skirt-dancing morbid. Also,he forgave her for forging his name—intype-writing—to a letter refusingto subscribe to a wedding-present forPrincess May. She said a man whowould forgive a thing like that wouldforgive anything. So she left theDolls' House."
"Quite right. Is that not theComtesse Zicka? I seem to recognisethe scent."
"It is—and the beautiful Italianlady is Madame Santuzza. One meetsall sorts of people here, you know;by the way, there's Mrs. Tanqueray."
"Princess Salomé!" announcedthe servant. A little murmur of surpriseseemed to go round the room asthe lovely Princess entered.
"What has she got on?" askedPortia.
"Oh, it's nothing," replied Mr.Walker, London.
"I thought she was not received inEnglish society," said Lady Windermere,puritanically.
"I can assure you, my dears, thatshe would not be tolerated in Brazil,where the nuts come from," exclaimedCharley's Aunt.
"There's no harm in her. She'sonly a little peculiar. She is particularlyfond of boar's head. It's nothing,"said Mr. Walker.
"The uninvitable in pursuit of theindigestible," murmured Lord Illingworth,as he lighted a cigarette.
"Is that mayonnaise?'" asked thePrincess Salomé of Captain Coddington, who had taken her tothebuffet. "I think it is mayonnaise. I am sure it is mayonnaise.It is mayonnaise of salmon, pink as a branch of coral which fishermenfind in the twilight of the sea, and which they keep for theKing. It is pinker than the pink roses that bloom in the Queen'sgarden. The pink roses that bloom in the garden of the Queen ofArabia are not so pink."
"Who's the jaded-looking Anglo-Indian, drinking brandy-and-soda?"I asked.
"T