Perhaps after all there is a savage irony of truth in Aunt Jessica's suggestion! And a _beau cousin_ should I be indeed.

What does she think I would go as?
A mousquetaire?
or a troubadour in blue satin trunks and cloak, white silk tights and shoes and a Grecian helmet, like Mr.Snodgrass at Mrs.Leo Hunter's _fete champetre ?_ I wish I could fathom Aunt Jessica's reasons for her attempts at involving me in her social mountebankery.

If the girls get no better dance-partners than me, heaven help them! Only a fortnight ago I drove with them to Hurlingham.

My aunt and Gwendolen disappeared in an unaccountable manner with another man, leaving me under an umbrella tent to take charge of Dora.

I had an hour and a half of undiluted Dora.