"Oh, I thought your friend in the riding-pants was chummy."
"So did I!" She rather snorted.
"Well, he's a nice-looking lad. I did admire those pants. I never could wear anything like that."
"I should hope not—at dinner! The creepy jack-ass, I don't believe he's ever been on a horse in his life! He thinks riding-breeches are the——"
"Oh, that's it. Breeches, not pants."
"—last word in smartness. Overdressing is just ten degrees worse than underdressing."
"Oh, I don't know. Take this sloppy old blue suit of mine——"
"It's perfectly nice and simple, and quite well cut. You probably had a clever tailor."
"I had. He lives in Chicago or New York, I believe."
"Really? How did he come to Schoenstrom?"