It is very difficult for a woman who doesn't know a nigh horse from an off one, nor the wheelers from the headers (or is it the fronters ?), to find subjects of conversation with a gentleman who spends three-fourths of his existence on a coach.

It was the more difficult for me because I could not decide whether Willie Beresford was cross because I was devoting myself to the whip, or because Francesca had remained at home with a headache.

This state of affairs continued for about fifteen miles, when it suddenly dawned upon the Honourable Arthur that, however mistaken my speech and manner, I was trying to be agreeable.

This conception acted on the honest and amiable soul like magic.

I gradually became comprehensible, and finally he gave himself up to the theory that, though eccentric, I was harmless and amusing, so we got on famously,--so famously that Willie Beresford grew ridiculously gloomy, and I decided that it could not be Francesca's headache.
The names of these English streets are a never-failing source of delight to me.