Cultured

“Arthur, face it. That little strumpet Arthur Junior brought home will never fit in.”

“But Henrietta, dear, she’s the only one he’s invited for dinner, and he’s twenty-five years old. We have to at least consider her.”

“Nonsense. You can’t turn a sack of chaff into a cultured pearl. It just can’t be done.”

“Well then what are we going to do, darling? Your son is as ugly as sin.”

“My son? He’s got your name.”

“Would you rather we’d called him Henry Junior? Quiet. Here they come.

“We were just discussing you, Junior.”

“Arthur…”

“Your mother was commenting on what a lovely lady you’ve brought home with you.”

“Her name is ‘Jennifer,’ Arthur.”

“Yes, yes. Jennifer. Which school did you say you attended? Hard knocks, you say? Har har har. Yes, well. I think you’re needed on the phone, Junior. The yacht club called. Yes, they’ve been holding on for fifteen minutes. Geeves will see Miss Jennifer out. So long, Jennifer.”

“I think you handled that quite well, Arthur.”

“Thank you, Henrietta, my dear.”