Mr. R., dryly.—"You shall do whatever you like, Miss Galbraith, when I've set you free; for I see your dress is caught in the window. When it's once out, I'll shut the window, and you can call the porter to raise it." He leans forward over her chair, and while she shrinks back the length of her tether, he tugs at the window-fastening. "I can't get at it. Would you be so good as to stand up,—all you can?" Miss Galbraith stands up, droopingly, and Mr. Richards makes a movement towards her, and then falls back. "No, that won't do. Please sit down again." He goes round her chair and tries to get at the window from that side. "I can't get any purchase on it. Why don't you cut out that piece?" Miss Galbraith stares at him in dumb amazement. "Well, I don't see what we're to do. I'll go and get the porter." He goes to the end of the car, and returns. "I can't find the porter—he must be in one of the other cars. But"—brightening with the fortunate conception—"I've just thought of something. Will it unbutton?"
Miss G.—"Unbutton?"
Mr. R.—"Yes; this garment of yours."
Miss G.—"My polonaise?" Inquiringly: "Yes."
Mr. R.—"Well, then, it's a very simple matter. If you will just take it off I can easily"—
Miss G., faintly.—"I can't. A polonaise isn't like an overcoat"—
Mr. R., with dismay.—"Oh! Well, then"—He remains thinking a moment in hopeless perplexity.
Miss G., with polite ceremony.—"The porter will be back soon. Don't trouble yourself any further about it, please. I shall do very well."
Mr. R., without heeding her.—"If you could kneel on that foot-cushion and face the window"—