Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. Her heels made contact with Rhea’s knees and hobbled her with a crack. The air was pungent and leaden. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped about in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to stay with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your party, at an hotel. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow.
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