her for the day. To drive into the country at all was an act abominable and appalling to all her ideas.
In Paris, except on race days, she never went farther than the lake, and never showed her toilettes in the Assembly at Versailles, because of the endless drive necessary as a means to get there.
In country houses she carefully kept her own room till about five o'clock; and, when forced for her health to go to Vichy or St. Moritz, or any such place, she played cards in the mornings, and when she was obliged to go out, looked at the other invalids' dresses. Mountains were only unpleasant things to be tunnelled; forests were tolerable, because one could wear such pretty Louis Quinze hunting-habits and the curée by torchlight was nice; the sea again was made endurable by bathing costumes, and it was fun to go and tuck up your things and hunt for prawns or pearls in the rock-pools and shallows—it gave rise to many very pretty situations. But merely to drive into the country!—it was only fit occupation for a maniac. Though she had
