The Bores, who had hoped that she was not at home – who have only come because the etiquette book told them that they had to come at least four times in the season, explain how they have been trying and trying to come.

“This afternoon,” says Mrs. Bore, “we decided to come for sure. ‘John, dear,’ I said this morning, ‘I shall go and see dear Mrs. Bounder this afternoon, no matter what happens.’”

It looks like the Prince of Wales,[31] who wanted to visit the Bores, was told that he could not come in. He might call again in the evening or come some other day.

That afternoon the Bores were going to enjoy themselves in their own way;[32] they were going to see Mrs. Bounder.

“And how is Mr. Bounder?” asks Mrs. Bore.

Mrs. Bounder remains mute for a moment. She can hear how he goes downstairs. She hears how the front door softly opens and closes.

And thus it is, not only with the Bores and Bounders, but even with us who are not Bores or Bounders. Any society is founded on the make-believe that everybody is charming; that we are delighted to see everybody; that everybody is delighted to see us; that it is so good of everybody to come; that we are desolate at the thought that they really must go now.

What will we prefer – to stop and finish our cigar or to hasten into the living-room to hear Miss Screecher’s songs? Miss Screecher does not want to sing; but if we insist – We do insist. Miss Screecher consents. We are trying not to look at one another. We sit and examine the ceiling. Miss Screecher finishes, and rises.

“But it was so short,” we say. Is Miss Screecher sure that was the end? Didn’t she miss a verse? Miss Screecher assures us that the fault is the composer’s.[33] But she knows another. So our faces lighten again with gladness.

Our host’s wine is always the best we have ever tasted. No, not another glass; we dare not – doctor’s orders, very strict. Our host’s cigar! We did not know they made such cigars in this world. No, we really cannot smoke another. Well, if he insists, may we put it in our pocket? The truth is, we do not like to smoke.

Our hostess’s coffee! Will she tell us her secret?

The baby! The usual baby – we have seen it. To be honest, we do not like babies a lot. But this baby! It is just the kind we wanted for ourselves.

Little Janet’s recitation:[34] “A Visit to the Dentist”! This is genius, surely. She must train for the stage. Her mother does not like the stage. But the theatre will lose such talent.

Every bride is beautiful. Every bride looks charming in a simple dress of – for further particulars see local papers. Every marriage is a cause for universal rejoicing. With our wine-glass in our hand we picture the best life for them. How can it be otherwise? She, the daughter of her mother. (Cheers.) He – well, we all know him. (More cheers.)

We carry our make-believe even into our religion. We sit in church, and say to the God, that we are miserable worms – that there is no good in us. It does us no harm, we must do it anyway.

We make-believe that every woman is good, that every man is honest – until they show us, against our will, that they are not. Then we become very angry with them, and explain to them that they are such sinners, and are not to mix with us perfect people.

Everybody goes to a better world when they have got all they can here. We stand around the open grave and tell each other so. The clergyman is so assured of it that, to save time,[35] they have written out the formula for him and had it printed in a little book.