We started off, I felt at once, on a perilous course. "You see," she said, "I had better—steer—because" (bump we went into somebody), "because—I dance once a week—always" (crash), "sometimes oftener—so I get—plenty of practice" (bang) "in steering, and that helps. I love dancing—don't you? Oh, that's all right—it's—only—the stupid—old mantelpiece—I always go into that—it sticks out so—doesn't it? It is hard—rather!"
Dolly was a flyer and no mistake. I was brought to a standstill at last by colliding with Thomas's Fraulein.
"It's all right," said Dolly generously, "you didn't hurt us!"
Fraulein was hurled on to a sofa and made no remark. She gave up temporarily the management of Thomas's left leg.
"Shall we sit out?" said Dolly. "It is hot, isn't it?"
She fanned herself with a very small program and tossed her hair back from her face. It was such lovely hair.
"Hair is beastly stuff, isn't it?" she said. "Wouldn't you love to be a boy? Oh, I promised mother not to say I 'beastly'; that's one of the things I would like to be a boy for, because boys may do such an awful lot of things."
I soon found out that Dolly liked boys better than girls.
She loved horses and dogs.
She hated and detested bearing-reins.