"You see, my dear, we live in an age of contrast. Women no longer play for safety in dress. They have begun to dare. And contrasts show imagination. Sometimes they're actually striking." "While matches have to be struck." "Like bargains. Exactly. They're passive, while contrasts are active. We're rather clever this morning, aren't you?" "It's the coming of summer in my case. I was in the Row at half-past seven this morning, and the air--" "I know. It was like hock-cup out of a stone jar, while the others are on the bank looking for a place to tie the punt up. I noticed it too. I was in the bathroom--" "Lazy." "Taking off my riding boots. You see, you don't give me time." "I don't believe you." "Hush. I feel that my tie is not straight. This must be rectified. Is there a mirror in the room? No, there is not a mirror in the room. The room is mirrorless. Very well, then. Either I must use the patent-leather of your little shoes, or perhaps you will lend me one of your large eyes. Of the two, I'd rather have the eye. There's more room." "Sorry the line's engaged. Shall I call you?" "If you please. My pet name is Birdie, short for Bolingbroke. Meanwhile, may I have a nail? Only one little nail?" "You'll have a whole palm in a minute." "Which will be quite in order. I have frequently borne the palm." "How many biscuits have you taken?" "Seven, and two buns. My sister's awfully proud of them. But about this tie." "You shouldn't wear made-up ties," she said severely. I sat up and looked at her. Mischievously she regarded the ceiling. Presently: "Note the awful silence," I said. "And dickeys are going out too." "Look here," said I, "I shall undress in a minute. Just to show you. These are matters touching the reputation." With that I gravely untied my tie. To my indignation she clapped her small hands with delight, and gave way to quiet laughter. I nodded solemnly. "Very good," I said. "Now I shall simply have to have an eye. No mere nail will suffice." "You will have nothing of the kind." I rose and walked to the window in some dudgeon. After considerable focussing, I managed to locate the environs of my collar in a dusty pane. While the work of reconstruction was proceeding: "Once upon a time," said I, "there was a queen. She was very beautiful from the crown of her little head, which the dark hair kept always, to the soles of her shining feet. And people loved to look at her and hear the music of her laughing. Only, it was no good going on Thursday, because that was early-closing day in her realm, and she and The Mint and The Dogs' Cemetery, and all the other places of interest were closed. You weren't allowed to see the crown jewels, which she wore in her eyes..." Outside a taxi slowed down and stopped. Cautiously I peered out of the window. George. I turned to the girl. "Here he is," I said. As I spoke, an idea came to me. Hurriedly I glanced round the studio. Then: