HER NEW DRESSMAKER.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 50, 12 December 1891, Page 674

HER NEW DRESSMAKER.

Characters. Mrs Forbes, a young widow. Major Churnside. Scene. Drawing room at Mrs Forbes's. Easy chair L., chair R.C. Clock on mantel-piece. It. Other furniture at discretion.

S' RS FORBES u/tfers) :‘ 1 declare that dress- \ Jil makers are the greatest nuisances in life—worse, far worse than even husbands, for u/ IIV when poor George was alive I could coax a new frock out of him with one-twentieth of the trouble it cost me to get it made. It was bad enough when the busines was in the hands of tradespeople, but now that ’Msß—dukes and duchesses have taken it up, one encounters all the vices peculiar to dressmakers with aristocratic hauteur and nonchalance thrown in. (Sits, R.C.) Everyone knows that the ducal house of Cordelie et Compagnie is the only place one can go to for garments ; but it is much more difficult to get a new frock from them in a reasonable time, than to procure an invitation to their place in the country. After waiting for three whole weeks merely to <?tve an order for a gown, I receive a note informing me that, if convenient—l presume to himself —their representative, Lord Adolphus Fitzculverin, will give himself the pleasure of dining with me this evening to talk the matter over. (Rises.) There’s a pretty way of doing business ! Makes me so nervous too ; suppose the soup is cold, or the quails are overdone, he’ll cut my stripes all wrong and I shall be ruined. Besides, its so embarrassing ; how on earth can I talk to a lord about clothes’: I shall have to dodge round the subject and lead up to it by degrees just as if I were trying to find out if his grandfather had been hanged for forgery ; and all the time I shall feel conscious that he’s taking me in from head to foot, and saying to himself, “ My good woman,who on earth has clothed you up to now ?” They all do that when you go to them for the first time, and its very clever of them ; but it always makes me so miserable and ashamed, that I feel I must cry out to them, “ My good people, charge me anything you like, only make me tit to be looked at by you.” Oh I dear (sinking into chair), I wish there were no sueh things as clothes in the world ! (Very slight pause.) But no I don’t, life would be very dull without the pleasure of cutting out one’s best friends. Dear me (looking at clock), it’s getting very late. I wonder what I have done with the ducal letter, for I've quite forgotten the time his lordship fixed for dinner, and oh—horrible thought 1 — I may have ordered it too soon 1 I had better go and look for the letter : now where on earth can I have put it ?’ (Exit.)

Major Churnside (o«Asw/e). ‘ Oh,very well, 11l announce myself (enters—his eyeglass has slipped round to his back—stops at door.) What the deuce have I done with my eyeglass—and las blind as a bat without it? Can’t tell one person from another ; never mind, here goes (advancing to rhair R.C. with outstretched hand.) Ah, my dear Lady Segrave, how do you ? (stops suddenly and examines the chair closely.) Hullo, bad shot, nobody here ! Ah I there she is (advances to chair L.C., again stops short). No; I verily believe there isn’t a soul in the room. 1 wish people wouldn’t have such deceptive furniture. (Looks at his watch.) It’s strange that I should be the first arrival—a fortnight's invitation—that always means with her ladyship a dinner of twenty at least. Perhaps my watch is fast. (Walks round and peers at the walls and furniture.) House has been done up since I was here last. New decorations, new pictures, all the furniture shifted too. I don’t like this playing at blindman’s buff with the chairs aud tables ; it upsets a near-sighted man, especially when deprived by fate of his eyeglass. (Sits down on chair 11. C., after carefully examining it.) Ah ! Tom Churnside, my fine fellow, if you were only a married man instead of being a lonely bachelor your wife would be with you now, and you could see by deputy. Why am I not a married man? Well, the answer is simple enough, because I am single. But why am I single? Ah, why? If I hadn't quarrelled with little Kitty Thornhill before I went to India, and if she hadn’t been in such a deuce of a hurry to m irry a liverless, yellow-faced old Croesus, I might now (Sighs.) Ah !it was a very little quarrel—l remember, and all about nothing too; I have often wondered if I was really in the right. We were going to a fancy-dress ball, lin uniform, she as a peasant. One evening—Jove ! how it all comes back to me ! —I had been dining with her people—her old aunt was reclining in an armchair as it might be there (/minting), sleeping off the effects of five courses and a bottle of Burgundy, and emitting gentle snores indicative of suppressed gout, while Kitty and I were—well, very comfortable in a remote corner. After a long interval of silence and—and—other matters, she at last said quite suddenly, “ I have decided upon the colour of my frock for the ball.'’ “Oh, have you?” said I. Yes," said she, “ I am going to wear pink.” I shuddered. (Rises) "Surely, Kitty darling,” said I, “you won’t do anything so dreadful as that.” "What do you mean?” said she; “I certainly shall wear pink, it suits me." "Oh, but," said I, "can’t you see it doesn’t suit me.-’’ "But you are not going to wear it,” said she. “No, not exactly,” said I; "but you don’t understand. I shall be in uniform, scarlet,”—l was very proud of my uniform in those days—“ we shall be seen together a great deal, for of course you will give me most of the dances, ami think, oh think, how your pink frock will kill my scarlet coat ; and 1 would as lief you killed me as my coat.” Well, we had a heated discussion ; I implored her to give way, bnt she resolutely refused, until at last, draw ing myself up to my full height, 1 said with all the dignity 1 could command, " Katherine, the woman who does not respect the Querns uniform is unworthy to be a soldier’s bride.” She laughed, and 1 left ; and from that day we have never met. (Sits in chair 1..) That peasant’s dress killed her love and coloured my life.

Mrs Forbes (enters at door—aside): 'Oh ! There’s my ducal dressmaker (coming forward—aloud) How do you do ? So glad to havathe pleasure of meeting you (shakes hands — half starts).’

Major C. (starts up, aside after peering at her) : ‘ I’ll swear that’s not Lady Seagrave—a guest, I suppose, she’s deuced friendly.’ Mrs F. (aside) : ‘ What a wonderful resemblance to dear old Tom Cburnside—it quite startled me. However, to business. We must not waste time, but come to frocks without delay. (Aloud) Won’t you be seated ?’ (Then both sit.)

Major C. : ‘ Thank ye! (aside) Seems quite at home here ; how strangely her voice reminds me of Kitty I’ Mrs F. (aside): • What on earth shall I say? (Aloud — abstractedly) What a remarkably fine day it has been !’ Major C. (absently): ‘ Eh, oh ! remarkably. (.-Isi'rfe, looks at watch) It’s about time some of the others turned up. I wish I had eaten more lunch.’

Mrs F. (osirfe): ‘Oh, I know. (Aloud) How charming the Row begins to look with the summer dresses !’ Major C. : ‘ Oh, ah ! charming.’ Mrs F. : * I suppose business is pretty brisk with you just now?’

Major C. (turns quickly) : * Eh ’.' Mrs F. : ‘ Oh, I beg your pardon. I mean—l presume your professional engagements are somewhat engrossing at present. ’

Major C. (aside) : ‘ Anyone would think I was the greengrocer come to wait. (Aloud) Well, no ’. I can’t say they take up much of my time just now. We men, you know, are such material creatures. At this particular hour of the day our thoughts are ever centred on one engrossing subject, and one only, dinner.’ Mrs F. (annoyed, aside): ‘ How vulgar I Won t talk business until he has fed: but he shall; I'll make him. (Aloud, sweetly) I thought perhaps you would like to have a little chat while we are waiting.' Major C. (aside): ‘ Wants to flirt ! Well, I’m willing. (Turns to her and assumes an engaging manner) Shall be charmed, I’m sure.’

Mrs F. : ‘ Well, I want you to tell me what you think of the little gown I’m wearing. It was one of Madame Celise’s ; only of course I cannot expect you to admire it.’ M ajor C. (not looking at the dress but at her) : ‘ My dear madam, I think it is unworthy of its wearer.’ Mrs F. (aside): ‘ I knew he’d say that—they always do. (Aloud, smiling) Well I dare say we shall be able to do better in the future. ’

Major C. : ‘I sincerely trust so—charms sueh as yours require perfect millinery—no, no ! I mean they are worthy of perfection.’ (twirls his moustache with a self-satisfied air.) Mrs F. (aside) : ‘ Rather strong, but I suppose its all in the way of business. (Aloud) Do you think walking dresses will be worn short or long this season ? They are so much more becoming short, don’t you think so?’ Major C. (puzzled): •Oh ! ah ! That, I think, depends mainly on the wearer ; but a« regards yourself, if I may form a conclusion from the imperfect data available (peering at her foot which obtrudes) I should say that short frocks would make your attractions deadly.’ (again twirls his moustache.)

Mrs F. (very annoyed, rising and taking stage). ‘ This is too much ! Lord or no Lord, I will not submit to fulsome nonsense from my dressmaker.’ Major C. (aside): ‘ She’s put out. Well, why couldn’t she let me alone ? She would flirt ; and how can a man pay delicate compliments when he is as empty as a drum ?’ Mrs F. (aside); ‘I suppose 1 must put up with it; but I’ll serve him out; he shan’t be paid for years !’ Major C. (aside, looking at natch). ‘ Eight o'clock and nobody else come. Shall we ever have dinner, I wonder?’ Mrs F. (seated): ‘ Now what do you say to our having a little talk about my new evening frock?’ Major C. (aside): ‘Confound her frock. I want my dinner. (Aloud, politely) Anything, my dear madam, that interests you interests me.’ Mrs F. (looking at her notes) : ‘ Well, then, this is my idea, and I shall be so glad to hear if you approve of it. I thought that (speaking quickly) I should like the jupe to be of some pale shade of crepe de Chine, draped with point d’Alencon ; the corsage and tiain to be of old brocade, lined with poult de soie of a contrasting nuance and bordered with a ruche of ostrich feathers ; the corsage to be cut low with rerers a la Directoire and opening over a vest of passementerie ; and I’m not quite certain about a Medici collar. There, what do you think of that ?’ Major C. (aside) : ‘ What intolerable jargon ! She's got dress on the brain, (.(loud) Very nice, very nice indeed, only to tell you the truth I found it a little difficult to follow.’

Mrs F. (eagerly) : ‘Oh, never mind, I’ll run through it again. The jupe to be of some pale shade of . . .’ MAJOR C. (interrupting): ‘ Oh, no, no,please don’t trouble ! A clear realisation of the conception lias struck me like a Hash of lightning. It is a grand—a magnificent idea, a millinery epic, a landscape in lace ! (Aside) Will nothing stop her? I’m faint from exhaustion and want of food.’

Mrs F. : ‘ Is there any alteration you can suggest ?’ M ajor < ’. (quickly) : ‘ Nothing, I assure you, nothing ; to alter would be to spoil. What !as the poet says, " Add another tint unto the nose ! ’ —l mean the rose. (Aside) She’s reducing me to idiocy.’ Mrs F. (aside): *He certainly has excellent taste, (.(loud) Well, now we must discuss the question of colour.’

MAJOR C. (Aside). ‘Oh, good heavens ! I’m getting desperate. (Aloud). ‘Oh, ah ! of course colour—a very interesting subject. What do you say to pink with scarlet trimmings? \ ery tasty, don’t you think ? (She looks surprised) Don’t like that ? (Speaks wildly Very well then, scai let with pink trimmings ; nor that ? (She stares) Then pink and scailet without any trimmings at all, or either with both or neither with nothing. It really doesn't matter now, it all happened so long ago.’ Mrs F. (Aside). Scarlet and pink, long ago ! what is the man talking about ?’ Major C. ‘ Don’t like any of them I Well then, try

something else, any culoui you please. (Aside) Boor Kitty ! Scarlet and pink.' Mrs F. (aside) : • He’s very strange in his manner. He must have been drinking ! It’s really too shocking ! (Aloud, rising and going up) I think, sii, it would perhaps be advisable for me to leave you until the effects of your luncheon have disappeared." Major C. : *My luncheon, madam 1 Give you my word I feel at this moment as if I bad not lunched for years. Ah ! I see, you fancy that I’m a little -eh ? very natural on your part, for hunger and emotion have so upset me that I daresay I have been talking rather wildly. The fact is that your voice and manner remind me strangely of one from whom I parted long ago ; it was those very colours, scarlet and pink, thatdrove us asunder, and some irresistible impulse forced them to my lips. My coat and her frock declined as it weie to be on speaking terms, and both our hearts were drawn into the quarrel ’ (goes !„.). Mrs F. (aside) : ‘lt's very strange. That’s exactly how Tom and I came to quarrel, and bes so absurdly like Tom ; but he is, he must be, Lord Adolphus, or be wouldn't be here. (Aloud coming down) Surely 1 have the honour of addressing Loid Adolphus Fitzculverin ?’ Major C. ; 1 I think not—of course I speak subject to correction—but I have always been led to believe that my name was Chui aside, Major Thomas Churnside, of the Bengal Staff Corps.’ Mrs F. (joyfully) : ‘lt is Tom! Oh, Tom, don’t you know me? Can’t you see who lam ?’ Major C. (aside) : ‘Coming to Christian names now; well, of all the forward dirts— (aloud, looking for glass) Know you ? well, if you have such a thing as a No. 5 eyeglass a'rout you I will answer the question at once, but if not ’—(turning away a little as if to look for glass). Mrs F. (sees if hanging at his back and takes hold of it) ■. ‘ There’s your eyeglass !’ Major C. (turning round quickly). ‘ Where?’ Mrs F. (giving it to him). ‘ Here !’ Major C. ‘Eb ? Uh ! Thank you ; and now, madam, to answer your question. (Fixes it in eye) By Jove, it’s Kitty! This is a joyful surprise. (Shaking both her hands) How very glad lam to see you again after'all these years—and you are you a little pleased to see an old—h’m—friend ?’ Mrs F. ‘ Yes, indeed, very. (Speaking impressively) Do you know I burnt that pink frock “directly you left the house ?’ Major C. ‘ How sweet of you ! and I exchanged into the Rides the next day for the sake of the uniform.’ Mrs F. ‘How noble of you! (Hesitatingly) I hope—that is—is Mrs Churnside in town ?’ Major C. (laughs): ‘ Mrs Churnside ! That lady’s existence is still in the cloudy regions of the future. But Mr Forbes, is he quite well ?’ Mrs F. (joyfully) : ‘Oh, he’s dead ! (Hecollecting) I mean > alas ! he is no more. ’ Major C. : * Hurray ! (Putting his arm round her waist But I say, Kitty, what are you doing here?’ Mrs F. (looking at arm and disengaging herself)-. ‘Receiving in my own house a decidedly forward visitor. And pray, sir, what do you mean by passing yourself off as Lord Adolphus ?’ Major C. : ‘ Your house—Lord Adolphus ! Kitty, this is too much for a hungry man. I came here to dinner at the invitation of Lady Segrave. ’ Mrs F. : ‘ My’ next-door neighbour ; so you’ve come to the wrong house. Now for my explanation : do you know I mistook you for my new dressmaker !’ Major C. : ‘Oh, I say, Kitty (turning round as //" to show himself) do I look like a dressmaker ?’ Mrs F.: ’You silly fellow, I mean a fashionable man milliner.’ Major C. : ‘Oh, that’s what I look like, is it? Well, I suppose it’s all right—dress parted us, and after all these years it is dress that brings us together again.’ Mrs F. : ‘ Yes, and as it’s now too late for you to go elsewhere, and as Lord Adolphus has evidently forgotten his engagement, yon had better stop here, eat his dinner and talk about old times ; so come, take medown (takes his arm). ’ Major C. (dragging her to the door) ; ‘My dear Kitty, I m starving.’ (Exeunt hurriedly.)

W. R. Walkes.