Miss Fresia Blud. (in a tone of lady-like apology).

  I am only a Cowboy—­

[Several Ladies put up their glasses, and examine her critically, as if they had rather expected this confession.  Sudden burst of Society Chatter from without.

Society Chatter.  How d’ye do?...  Oh, but her parties never are!...  How are you?...  No, I left her at ...  Yes, he’s somewhere about ...  Saw you in the Row this mornin’....  Are you doing anything on ——?...  Oh, what a shame!...  No, but doesn’t she now?...  No earthly use trying to get in at present ... &c., &c.

Miss Fresia B. (beginning again, with meek despair, a little louder).

  I am only a Cowboy; reckless, rough, in an unconventional suit of clothes;
  I hain’t, as a rule, got much to say, and my conversation is mostly oaths.

    [Cries of “Ssh!” intended, however, for the people outside,
    who are chattering harder than ever.

  When the cackle of females strikes my ear—­

Society Chatter (as before).  Oh, much cooler here ...  Yes, delightful, wasn’t it?  Everybody one knows ...  No, you don’t really?...  Oh, POPSY’s flourishing, thanks ...  The new Butler turned out a perfect demon ... but I said I wouldn’t have his tail dooked for anything ... so they’ve painted it eau de Nil, and it looks so nice!

Miss F.B. (pointedly).

  When the cackle of females strikes my ear, I jest vamose, for they
      make me skeered,
  And I sorter suspicion I skeer them too, with my hulking form, and
      my bushy beard!

    [Here, of course, she strokes a very round chin.

Society Chatter.  Seems to be somethin’ goin’ on in there—­singin’, actin’, dancin’, or somethin’ ...  Well, of course, only heard her version of it as yet, y’know ...  Have you seen him in ... white bensaline with a Medici collar, and one of those ... nasty gouty attacks he will have are only rheumatism, &c., &c.

Miss F.B. (when next heard).

  I cleared my throat, and I tried to speak—­but the words died
      strangled—­

A Feminine Voice outside.  So long since we had a quiet talk together!  Do tell me all about, &c., &c.

Miss F.B. —­strangled by sheer alarm.

For there in front—­

[Here she points dramatically at a stout matron, who fans
herself consciously.

              —­was the slender form, and the sweet girl-face of our
      new “School Harm”! 
  Say, boys! hev’ ye heard an AEolian harp which a Zephyr’s tremulous
      finger twangs? 
  Wa’al, it kinder thrills ye the way I felt when I first beheld
      LOBELIA BANGS!