Cake for two

In which the day's events are recollected in an affected colonial English manner, decidedly genteel but not altogether old fashioned. Can you hear me enunciating Every Single Word?

At noon today, my friend M met me at the door of the restaurant by the gate of the sprawling college grounds. Said place is frequented by dignified society but by no means new. "Pleased to see you again," he said as he ushered me to the first table.

"So," I began,"How are things in our beloved D------?"

"Astonishingly well," was the cheerful reply."Days are superbly sunny and marvelously long. And all of D------ is on the beachfront half-naked."

"My,my,"I laughed, pretending to be embarrassed for the youth of D------.

Alas, M knew better. "But of course you are not bothered at all about such things."

Over cakes and tea, we compared each state's contribution to the continent's gene pool and disagreed for the better part of three hours.

"To say that the Empire's southern faction is a more handsome lot is utterly unfair," he sneered. "One must consider the entire package."

"You are correct," I sneered back as I set my cup and saucer on the black marble. "However, the precious pupils in D------ are hardly the bookish sort."

"Hear, hear," he clapped in sarcasm. "Regardless of my enjoyment in seeing you seethe, I must leave. The little ladies of the court are waiting for their scones."

"By George, the scones!" I gasped. I had forgotten them in my carriage. We looked at each other, terrified that a scone-free Friday afternoon in August would reflect how poorly we were taught in the academy. I shuddered.

"No matter," he said as he put on his gloves. "Let them eat cake."

Speaking in British English has a troubling effect on my state of mind (and writing). Thanks to M for lunch at C------- K--------. Hope to see you before you leave for B-----.