She had rapped vigorously upon the front window, and a misty, rather beautiful blue eye had rolled interrogatively over Jim's shoulder.
"Your robe is dragging," shrieked in shrill staccato Daisy Shaw; and there had been a dull nod of the head, a feeble pull at the dragging robe, then it had dragged again.
"Oh, don't mind, dear," said Alice Mendon.

"It is his own lookout if he loses the robe." "It isn't that," responded Daisy querulously.

"It isn't that.

I don't care, since he is so careless, if he does lose it, but I must say that I don't think it is safe.

Suppose it got caught in the wheel, and I know this horse stumbles." "Don't worry, dear," said Alice Mendon.