Where the smooth-limbed ash to the blue stands bare,
And the gossamer spreads her opalled ware--
And Jones is catching the 8.15.

After several more verses like this he bows and retires. Lady Poldoodle,
still mechanically clapping, says to her neighbour:

"How beautiful! Dawn at Surbiton! Such a beautiful idea, I think."

"Wasn't it sublime?" answers the neighbour. "The wonderful contrast
between the great pageant of nature and poor Mr. Jones, catching--always
catching--the 8.15."

But Lord Poldoodle is rising again. "Our next poet," he says,
"is Miss Miranda Herrick, whose work is so distinguished for
its--er--its--er--distinction."

Miss Herrick, dressed in pale green and wearing pincenez, flutters in
girlishly. She gives a nervous little giggle, pushes out her foot,
withdraws it and begins:

When I take my bath in the morning--

The audience wakes up with a start. "When you take your _what_!" says
Lord Poldoodle.

Miss Herrick begins again, starting this time with the title.

LIFE