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"Are you skinning me?" she asked.
Where she had picked up this eccentric metaphor I know not. She had many
odd turns of language as yet not current among the fashionable classes.
I gravely assured her that I was not sarcastic. I commended her
praiseworthy aspirations.
"But," said I innocently, "don't you miss the hard training, the
physical exercise, the delight of motion, the excitement, the----?"--my
vocabulary failing me, I sketched with a gesture the equestrienne's
classical encouragement to her steed.
She looked at me uncomprehendingly.
"The what?" she asked.
"What are you playing at?" inquired Dale.
"I was referring to the ring," said I.
They both burst out laughing, to my discomfiture.
"What do you take me for? A circus rider? Performing in a tent and
living in a caravan? You think I jump through a hoop in tights?"
"All I can say," I murmured, by way of apology, "is that it's a
mendacious world. I'm deeply sorry."
Why had I been misled in this shameful manner?
Madame Brandt with lazy good nature accepted my excuses.


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