sufficiently large to take all I think a woman ought to need
for a night's stay. Pauline often assures me it does hold everything,
squashed tight, of course. I say it must be squashed very tight, and
she says it is. "That's the beauty of the present-day fashion of fluffy
things: everything is so easily squashed, and yet you can't squash them;
an accordion-pleated thing, for instance."

To a man whose admiration for a woman is gauged by the amount of luggage
she can travel without, Pauline would prove irresistible. I know one who
prides himself on his packing, and who has a horror of much luggage. He
was all packed ready to go to Scotland, when his wife asked him if he
could lend her a collar-stud for her flannel shirts, and he said, "Yes,
but you must carry it yourself, I'm full up!"

To that man Pauline, I am sure, would be very attractive.

When Pauline and I started off on our shopping expedition, she demurred
at taking a hansom, although she loves driving in them; but she said
'buses were so much more amusing. "People in 'buses say such funny
things," she said, and so they do. The old lady in particular who, when
the horse got his leg over the trace without hurting himself or any one
else, got up and announced to the 'bus in general: "There, I always did
say I hated horses and dogs," and sat down again. I loved her for that
and for other things too, among them her apple-cheeks and poke bonnet.

Another reason why I insisted upon a hansom is that Pauline is not to be
trusted in a 'bus; her interest in her fellow-creatures is embarrassing.
I have, moreover, sat opposite babies in 'buses with Pauline, and where
a baby is concerned, she has no self-control. So I was firm, and we
started off in a hansom. I was continually besought to look at some
delicious baby, first this side, then that.

Pauline calmly avers that she would go mad if she lived in London. She
couldn't stand seeing so many beautiful children, or babies, beautiful
or otherwise. It is curious how babies in perambulators hold out their
hands to Pauline as she passes, and laugh and gurgle at her.

Once in Piccadilly, beautiful babies became less plentiful, and Pauline
turned her thoughts and sympathies to horses and bearing-reins. She was
instantly plunged into the depths of despair. Couldn't I do something,
she asked, to remedy such a crying evil? She said it was the duty of
every woman in London--Something in the catalogue she was carrying
arrested he