With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. "Rather cramped, eh?" "Rather so, Sir," replied the other, altering his position. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited.
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