THE BROWN LADY.
We were talking of the sex, the dark and the fair, and "Give me," he said, "a brunette every time. But how seldom one meets them now!"
I expressed surprise at this.
"Yes," he said, "it is so. Plenty of women with dark hair, but not dark skins. The true brunette is very rare."
"I know one," I said; "probably the most perfect brunette in London."
"Young?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Could I—would you take me to see her?" he asked.
"Certainly," I said.
"When?" he asked.
"Now," I said; "this afternoon. But we must hurry. Her servants have orders not to let anyone in after four."
"You're sure she won't mind?" he asked.
"Absolutely," I said. "My friends are hers. I've introduced lots of people to her and she's delighted."
He smiled blissfully.
Having obtained a taxi I gave an address in Regent's Park, but told the driver to stop at a shop on the way "She loves sweets," I explained.
"They all do," he replied, with the sententiousness of gallantry, as though speaking from abysmal depths of knowledge.
"Yes, but she has a more catholic taste than most," I said. "She's the only brunette—or, if it comes to that, the only blonde—I ever knew with a weakness for—well, I'll make you guess."
"Preserved ginger?" he suggested.
"No," I said.
"American pop-corn?"
"Not that I know," I said.
"Tell me," he replied.
"Condensed milk," I said.
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed. "Condensed milk? That's the oddest thing I've ever heard."
"That's what I'm getting," I said; "and it won't injure your chances with her if you take her a pot of honey."
"But I don't know her," he submitted.
"It doesn't matter," I said; "she's the most unconventional creature in the world—just a child of nature."
"Delicious!" he murmured.
"She's a Canadian, you see," I added.
"Oh, a Canadian," he replied, as though that explained everything. "And, by the way, what's her name?"
"She lets me call her Winnie," I said.
"And what do I call her?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "if I were you I'd call her Winnie too. She'd love it."
"This is extraordinarily interesting," he replied. "But you know I'm far too shy to do a thing like that."
When, however, the time came and we were shown into Winnie's drawing-room in Mappin Terrace and the most adorable brown bear in captivity came lumbering towards us, he called her Winnie as naturally as her keeper does or any of the Canadian soldiers whose mascot she was, and he held the honey-pot for her until her tongue had extracted every drop. She then clawed at his pocket for more.
"I told you she'd like you," I said.
"Isn't she a pet? And a brunette all right? I didn't deceive you."
"She's perfect," he said. "Absolutely the Queen of She-Bears."
And so say all good Zoologicians.
E. V. L.
A GERMAN INVASION.
Herr Noah (to Frau Noah). "HERE WE ARE AGAIN—JUST AS IF NOTHING HAD HAPPENED!"