private view by saying mysteriously, 'I oughtn't to be here,
you know; this is one of my days.' I thought she meant that
she was subject to periodical outbreaks and was expecting an
attack at any moment. So embarrassing if she had suddenly
taken it into her head that she was Cesar Borgia or St.
Elizabeth of Hungary. That sort of thing would make one
unpleasantly conspicuous even at a private view. However,
she merely meant to say that it was Wednesday, which at the
moment was incontrovertible. Well, she's on quite a
different tack to the Klopstock. She doesn't visit anywhere
very extensively, and, of course, she's awfully keen for me
to drag in an incident that occurred at one of the
Beauwhistle garden-parties, when she says she accidentally
hit the shins of a Serene Somebody or other with a croquet
mallet and that he swore at her in German. As a matter of
fact, he went on discoursing on the Gordon-Bennett affair in
French. (I never can remember if it's a new submarine or a
divorce. Of course, how stupid of me!) To be disagreeably
exact, I fancy she missed him by about two inches--over-
anxiousness, probably--but she likes to think she hit him.
I've felt that way with a partridge which I always imagine
keeps on flying strong, out of false pride, till it's the
other side of the hedge. She said she could tell me
everything she was wearing on the occasion. I said I didn't
want my book to read like a laundry list, but she explained
that she didn't mean those sort of things."

"And there's the Chilworth boy, who can be charming as long
as he's content to be stupid and wear what he's told to; but
he gets the idea now and then that he'd like to be