A Musicale with the Lady:

Cecilia could no longer avoid social engagements, having become rather healthy--pity that it was. Almost the moment she informed her dear Mamma that she was feeling better, she was bombarded with luncheons and dinners and dances, even a musicale, all to which they'd been invited but forced to decline because of her poor health. Her mother was frantic sending replies and apologetic acceptances. Cecilia had hoped to stick to their original refusal (though usually she didn't mind society life), but there was to be no putting her mother off.
      And so, as a dutiful daughter, Cecilia arrived at Grevton Place with her Mamma at the proper time. She sat through excruciating pleasantries before the musicale was to open. She responded to inquires of her health she knew wouldn't have been made if it weren't for her mother's lack of propriety in changing her mind about their ability to come. She allowed a number of gentlemen to take her hand, all the while knowing they were only after the promise of a sizable dowry. She accepted their half compliments without thinking too hard of their sardonic undertones. She did all this without a complaint. Until Mrs. Mansley approached.
      "Oh, dear Miss Wells! I cannot tell you how very relieved I was to hear of your recovery! Indeed, I was left in quite a state when I heard the news, even a fit if you were to ask Mr. Mansley (though I can add no attestation to my having called it that), for often has a young girl taken cold and suffered for the worse off because of it--even lost their bloom! But now I see that you are well, and there is no point in asking after your health, and therefore the only thing worth asking over is your Mr. Bradley. I wonder, how is our favorite conspirator?" Cecilia took comfort in the fact that it was one of her shorter monologues.
       Cecilia did her very best to keep her sarcasm to a minimum, being aware of how unladylike a trait it was. "I daresay, Mrs. Mansley, I am quite sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but as it so happens my Mr. Bradley, as you so endearingly put it, has been engaged some six weeks now while he has been away from the City."
        One would have expected, next, for Mrs. Mansley to console her young friend. It was, however, a very different reaction she received. "Well." Began Mrs. Mansley, "Let me tell you something young lady: cultured young men do not know who or what they want until it is put right in front of their faces. A girl such as the likes of you," she put extra emphasis on this phrase, "will not catch a husband by being coy. Men do not want a conversationalist, they want someone who makes them look good at a party; they want someone to run their homes; someone to agree to their schemes. Do not wait for a man to sweep you off your feet, Cecilia. He simply won't. You've got to tell him what he wants."
      Cecilia was very nearly appalled. "And what, pray tell, of love? "
       Mrs. Mansley clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Don't be a child, Cecilia! Love is something invented by the writers of fairy tales to comfort the poor. You, my dear, have been born to high society and there are certain standards to which we must live. It is expected."
       Cecilia could not hold back anymore. "And is there not more to life than what is expected?" 
       "There is nothing more to life than that, dear. Not in England."

Needless to say, Cecilia was left quite out of sorts after such a conversation. And so it was not such a surprise (at least to a certain lady) that when all the music had been played, and recitations were called for that Cecilia got up and recited a little sonnet written on the back of a napkin. Clearing her throat, she began. 

"The Ideal Man:

He stands with all virtue about his face,

No other is found worthy of compare.

For he contains all elegance and grace,

While sophistication adorns his air.

His words are kind, yet matched with quick wit.

All the world's sweetness envelops his speech.

No word of his will you dare to forget;

All vocabulary within his reach.

Every goodness he has acquired

Is practiced daily with calm focused care.

Thousands have his noble actions inspired,

With his perfections so notably rare.

Tis a pity that such is mythical,

For perfect men are merely fictional."

[The Ideal Man written by Alexandra Dorine Jesperson]