VOICE (_during a lull in the music_)--First, you brown an onion in the
pan, then you chop the cabbage--

GUEST (_in the dressing-room, just arriving, to another_)--Yes, we are
awfully late, too, but I always say you never can be too late at one of
the Smythes' horrors.

THIN YOUNG WOMAN (_in limp pink gown and string of huge pearls, who has
come to recite_)--I'm awfully nervous, and I do believe I'm getting
hoarse. Mama, you didn't forget the lemon juice and sugar? (_Drinks from
bottle._) Now, where are my bronchial troches? Don't you think I could
stand just a little more rouge? I think it's a shame I'm not going to
have footlights. Remember, you are not to prompt me, unless I look at
you. You will get me all mixed up, if you do. (_They descend._)

HOSTESS (_to elocutionist_)--Why, I thought you were never coming! I
wanted you to fill in while people were taking their seats. The guests
always make so much noise, and the singers hate it. Now, what did you
say you would require--an egg-beater and a turnip, wasn't it? Oh, no!
That's for the young man who is going to do the tricks. I remember. Are
you all ready?

ELOCUTIONIST (_in a trembling voice_)--Ye-es.

HOSTESS--'Sh, 'sh, 'sh!

ELOCUTIONIST--_Aux Italiens._

"At Paris it was, at the opera there,