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Chapter XV.
COACHING IN WESTLAND.
“And in from the ocean’s rounded rim
There floated a fairy cloud,
That held, in its fleecy vapour train,
The crystal drops of the fairy rain.”
When we started from Nelson that morning the sun was shining brilliantly, the grace of summer lay on the land, and it was hot,—so hot at eight o’clock that we expected to find noon almost unbearable. Mrs Greendays was wearing tussore; all the travelling dresses she brought out with her are made of that most useful, dust-resisting material. But mine are of serge, made like hers with a fairly short walking skirt and Russian blouse-coat, and in the train she asked me if I would like to change into one of her tussore suits when we got to the terminus, as the heat was so intense. To do so would have been to own that she had made the better choice of materials, and I had always contended that she had not; I liked my serges and believed in their general all-round usefulness,
