An IPOAT Ball in honour of days of yore and yon mighty Maiden Juice

[Hullygully]

Shall we?

That is very good of both of you. I shall look out some young sergeants to mark your dancing cards. Perhaps just a quadrille to start.

I do like a little ratafia, though alas it plays havoc with my gout.

May I put in an order for a snood? I have a fetching figured muslin gown in a quite charming shade of puce that I intend to wear at the first ball of the season. As long as I have toes enough left to dance, that is.

I don't want to be wedded. I want suitors, the not dribbly ones. Will Mr Rochesters nephew be present? I have heard tell he is acquainted with the bishop?

Mistress Honey you try my patience most sorely.

Such forwardness and impertinence in a young gal is not becoming. Try a little maidenly modesty and blushing, it will get you a lot further.

Mr Rochester's nephew has been embroiled in a matter of some indelicacy, there is doubt over his attendance.

Miss Scrambled. You are a gal. Gals wear white. When you are wed, you may wear colour if you must.

Shall I only tat white snoods? I have some rather dainty lemon thread but fear it may be too forward.

May I blushingly request an older gentleman who reads poetry. All these young sergeants make me feel quite wobbly.

I tried maidenly blushing and not putting myself forward, I'm now having to fat a dress for a demanding Titania and make cover-alls for a changling babe.

Sadly it is not all a bleddy dream.

Tat, not fat.

One must convince the Ladies College to let us gals read the books instead of putting them on our heads

Good Morrow. May I take up residence in a shady recess where I may hide my crutches neath my crinoline?

Mistress Hully you are too kind, I fear that I am an old maid. I am as yet unwed and nearing 30

It is to be hoped that one of my nieces will require a companion soon, then I can don my lace cap and be of use finally

We can hope for no higher calling than to be useful, unless it is to be wed and serve our families. To be matrons and mothers is to fulfil our destiny both biological and holy.

Lemon thread sounds rather modern. Miss Exit, you may.

Mistress Honey, can you read? I am most impressed. I did own a book once but it only had pictures of maidens bettering themselves by painting, learning to play the harpsichord and making pomanders.

I will put the lemon thread away for now and use only the orf white that is both seemly and madienly. It did roll away under the bureau and I fear it is a little dusty now, but I can wipe it gently with my handkerchief and I'm sure none of the other maidens will notice.

That's the spirit, Miss Farewell, what a splendid example you set for the other gels.

I'm sure they won't farewell

Thank you Mistress Hully

If any young maids need direction of manners or decorum pray send them to my corner and I will do my worst best to assist them.

Put I do beseech you to keep those young gents away from me

Mistress Honey is indeed accomplished.

I shall endeavour to follow her example and devote myself to my correspondence this fine afternoon. I fear I have woefully neglected it.

I'm almost dressed.

I fear my desire for an older poetry-reading gentleman is somewhat unbecoming but I shall attempt to better myself and be more like Mistress Honey. Maybe one day I will be deemed worthy of being taught 'reading' and be able to read poetry for myself. In the meantime I shall go back to my tatting and polishing.

Is Misstress Exit allowed outside in her underthings? What if the gardener saw her and had animalistic thoughts after seeing her frillies?

I think the gardener's still blind from what ever it was he found that time in Mistress Fids medicinal still.

Zounds! Perish the thought. I was hiding in the maze with my dressmaker.

Oh Miss Exit I do apologise for casting a slur on your character. How silly of me to think you would do something so unbecoming.

Methinks you have confused me with my evil half sister who has been locked in the attic since the unfortunate incident on her 16th birthday involving the bugle player from the regiment stationed in the village.

The thought of a ball has me all a-dither and I fear I feel an attack of the vapours coming on. Quick, smelling salts, anyone?