“I’m going to run in a race soon,” she said, shelving the doll for the nonce and descending to ordinary chitchat.
“Yes?” I said. Distrait, if you know what I mean, and trying to peer through the chinks in the crowd. “What race is that?”
“Egg ’n Spoon.”
“No, really? Are you Sarah Mills?”
“Na-ow!” Registering scorn. “I’m Prudence Baxter.”
Naturally this put our relations on a different footing. I gazed at her with considerable interest.
- One of the stable.
I must say she didn’t look much of a flier. She was short and round. Bit out of condition, I thought.
“I say,” I said, “that being so, you mustn’t dash about in the hot sun and take the edge