Here was a catastrophe. Did she refer to hats, or skirts, or Christmas cards? What sudden original observation had I unfortunately missed during that last journey South-westward? At all costs I must keep cool. I pulled myself together and plunged.
"Yes," I said. "You see the old-fashioned ones were so awfully tight, weren't they?"
"Tight?" she echoed. "Not tight."
"Well, not exactly tight," I answered, feeling rather distracted. "I meant large."
She looked at me suspiciously, I thought. "I think they're too long," she said, "and such a lot of people in them."
This was growing too complicated, and I wished heartily we had stuck to Glasgow and its weather.
"One finds them," she added, "so hard to follow."
I racked my miserable brain for anything that was lengthy, populous, and difficult to follow; in vain.
"Still," I gasped, glancing at the door, "one can always ... one can generally ... one can sometimes sit down ... for a rest ... if one is dreadfully tired," I explained.
She gazed at me reproachfully.