Lesbia’s bicycling costume having been perfected by the good taste of her uncle, was now very presentable; accordingly she rode her machine—a new 50-inch one—to Ruddymere, while the others drove in the pony-chaise.
‘Well, dear,’ said the hostess, taking the young girl’s hands in each of her own, ‘you do look sweetly manly to-day. I’ve heard of your doings on the bicycle; got it here, I suppose? Yes; and how are your friends of Frogmore? But, I say, don’t you mind people noticing you wherever you go?’
‘Not a bit, Lady Humnoddie; I’m getting quite a hardened, brazen character. But I get some encouragement too.’
‘Mostly from men, I suppose?’
‘No; I’m corresponding with the Reformed Dress Society, which is composed of ladies. I want to propose the institution of a girls’ bicycle club.’
‘Capital idea! but I suppose you’d reject tricycles with lofty contempt. I’m really thinking of a tandem for Hilda and Friga. My girls are both bitten by the mania. ‘I wish they weren't, but it can’t be helped. But, I say, Lesbie, is it your uncle’s fad or your own?’
‘His in the first place; mine now.’
‘Ah, I guessed as much. Mr Bristley is well known to be a heretic and a sinner.’
This was said in a voice intended to reach the person concerned, who was in an adjoining group.
‘I plead guilty to being a sinner, Lady Humnoddie,’ said he, coming forward, ‘otherwise I should be a better man than St Paul, who called himself the chief of sinners—and very accurately, considering the twaddle he always talked whenever he opened his mouth on the subject of women. But a heretic, no. I take a professional pride in keeping whole and undefiled the Catholic Faith, else without doubt I should perish everlastingly!’
