“Darned—­I mean extremely risky,” sighed Dicky.

Mrs. Portheris faced upon them.  “And pray what do you know about it?” she demanded.

Then momma put in her oar, taking most unguardedly a privilege of relationship.  “Of course, you are the best judge of how you feel yourself, Aunt Caroline, but we are told there are some steps to ascend when we get there—­and you know how fleshy you are.”

In the instant of ominous silence which occurred while Mrs. Portheris was getting her chin into the angle of its greatest majesty, Mr. Mafferton considerately walked to the door.  When it was accomplished she looked at momma sideways and down her nose, precisely in the manner of the late Mr. Du Maurier’s ladies in Punch, in the same state of mind.  She might have sat or stood to him.  It was another ideal realised.

“That is the latest, the very latest Americanism which I have observed in your conversation, Augusta.  In your native land it may be admissible, but please understand that I cannot permit it to be applied to me personally.  To English ears it is offensive, very offensive.  It is also quite improper for you to assume any familiarity with my figure.  As you say, I may be aware of its corpulence, but nobody else—­er—­can possibly know anything about it.”

Momma was speechless, and, as usual, the Senator came to the rescue.  He never will allow momma to be trampled on, and there was distinct retaliation in his manner.  “Look here, aunt,” he said, “there’s nothing profane in saying you’re fleshy when you are, you know, and you don’t need to remove so much as your bonnet strings for the general public to be aware of it.  And when you come to America don’t you ever insult anybody by calling her corpulent, which is a perfectly indecent expression.  Now if you won’t go back to bed and tranquillise your mind—­on a plain soda——­”

“I won’t,” said Mrs. Portheris.

“De carriages is already,” said the head porter, glistening with an amiability of which we all appreciated the balm.  And we entered the carriages—­Mrs. Portheris and the downcast Isabel and Mr. Mafferton in one, and momma, poppa, Dicky, and I in the other.  For no American would have been safe in Mrs. Portheris’s carriage for at least two hours, and this came home even to Mr. Dod.

“Never again!” exclaimed momma as we rattled down among the narrow streets that crowd under the Funicular railway.  “Never again will I call that woman Aunt Caroline.”

“Don’t call her fleshy, my dear, that’s what really irritated her,” remarked the Senator.  The Senator’s discrimination, I have often noticed, is not the nicest thing about him.