the bank, and my riding-breeches are not cut with a view to
salmon-fishing--it's rather an art even to ride in them. Her
habit-skirt was one of those open questions that need not be
adhered to in emergencies, and on this occasion it remained
behind in some water-weeds. She wanted me to fish about for
that too, but I felt I had done enough Pharaoh's daughter
business for an October afternoon, and I was beginning to
want my tea. So I bundled her up on to her pony, and gave
her a lead towards home as fast as I cared to go. What with
the wet and the unusual responsibility, her abridged costume
did not stand the pace particularly well, and she got quite
querulous when I shouted back that I had no pins with me--and
no string. Some women expect so much from a fellow. When we
got into the drive she wanted to go up the back way to the
stables, but the ponies KNOW they always get sugar at the
front door, and I never attempt to hold a pulling pony; as
for Mrs. Nicorax, it took her all she knew to keep a firm
hand on her seceding garments, which, as her maid remarked
afterwards, were more tout than ensemble. Of course nearly
the whole house-party were out on the lawn watching the
sunset--the only day this month that it's occurred to the sun
to show itself, as Mrs. Nic. viciously observed--and I shall
never forget the expression on her husband's face as we
pulled up. "My darling, this is too much!" was his first
spoken comment; taking into consideration the state of her
toilet, it was the most brilliant thing I had ever heard him
say, and I went into the library to be alone and scream.
Mrs. Nicorax says I have no delicacy.

Talking about tariffs, the lift-boy, who reads extensively