"Well, not exactly _tight_," I answered, feeling rather distracted. "I meant large." She looked at me suspiciously, I thought. "_I_ think they're too long," she said, "and such a lot of people in them." This was growing too complicated, and I wished heartily we had stuck to Glasgow and its weather. "One finds them," she added, "so hard to follow." I racked my miserable brain for anything that was lengthy, populous, and difficult to follow; in vain. "Still," I gasped, glancing at the door, "one can always ... one can generally ... one can sometimes sit down ... for a rest ... if one is dreadfully tired," I explained. She gazed at me reproachfully. "I don't usually stand at the back of the pit," she said. "The last time Fred took me we had stalls." "How--how _jolly_!" I murmured. "I was thinking of--of----" "If you please, Mr. Fred would like some soda-water and a few biscuits taken up, Ma'am," said the servant, entering softly. I rose. "Must you go?" protested my conversationalist. "Oh, I am so sorry! But come again soon--you have kept me quite lively. Good-bye." I took the tube to Charing Cross and changed there for Putney and Ethel. (Did I mention that her name was Ethel?) But when I told Ethel about it afterwards she said she thought sarcasm in elderly ladies was very objectionable. * * * * * COMMERCIAL ART. Across the sundering gulf of time I lift a song to you, Melodious as a minster chime, Loud, I expect, as two. Years have flown swiftly since we met; Do you, remembered one, forget The rapturous moment and sublime When I drew near to you? I bet A half-a-crown you do. Your name I never learned--Helene, Beryl, perhaps Marie, Phyllis, Estelle, or merely Jane-- It makes no odds to me. I hymn you, maiden, none the less; I toil in rhyme and metre; yes, From noon till eve I bear the pain Of this prolonged poetic stress (With half-an-hour for tea). Carrots your hair was (_i.e._, red; "Carrots" is just my fun); Blue were your eyes, and from them sped A gleam that mocked the sun-- I _think_ that's so, but, as I say, Time has moved quickly since that day, And few, too few, the words we said When languidly, as beauty may, You handed me a bun. Calmly you took it from the place Where it was used to sit, And I can still recall the grace With which you dusted it. I paid you, and we parted; so Life's rich adventures come and go! And did that brief glimpse of your face Set love within me surging? No, It didn't. Not a bit. I only sing because I must; Not mine the fret, the throb Of fevered passion; verse is just My livelihood, or job. Searching for themes, I had a clear, Swift vision of your dial; queer How such things happen, but I trust These lines will bring me in, my dear, L1 or 30s. * * * * * [Illustration: AT THE COSTUMIER'S.