I will not detain you long over the difficulties that I had with the “Society” section.  But I feel I ought to mention the business of the Countess, if only to put intending players on their guard.  There is a puzzling phrase which occurs in answer to the observation, “Pray come nearer the fire; I am sure you must be cold.”  The proper answer is, “No, I thank you.  I am very well placed here beside the Countess.”  It took me a month to find a Countess, two to meet her in the drawing-room of a mutual friend, and four to recover from the hole which the irascible little Count made in me when we met next morning on the field of honour.

So I pass sadly and with tears of chagrin to my ultimate defeat.  I met my Waterloo, my friends, in the section labelled “The Tailor.”  Requests within reason I can comply with, for the fun of the thing.  Eatables and drinks, suites of rooms and carriages, when ordered on the lavish scale of my Vade Mecum, are not exactly cheap now-a-days.  But it’s about the limit when one’s Mecum expects one to squander the savings of a lifetime in ordering several suits of clothes at once.  And yet there it was as large as life, the accursed sentence that made me shut the book with a snap and come home:—­“These coats fit me well, though the cut is not fashionable.  I shall require also three pairs of trousers, three nankeen pantaloons and four waistcoats.”

If anyone feels inclined to try my patience—­and theirs—­I should like to mention that I have a nice annotated Mecum and a good second-hand carriage for disposal at a very moderate figure.

* * * * *

A VICTIM OF FASHION.

Like everybody else that one knows, Kidger is an ex-service man.  During the last year of that war on the Continent some time ago he had the acting rank of captain, as second in command of a six-mangle army laundry.

When I knew him in pre-war days he was an amiable character, with only two serious weaknesses.  One of these was an exaggerated fastidiousness about clothes, and the other an undue deference to the dicta of the Press.  A leader in The Tailor and Cutter would make him thoughtful for days.  This fatal concern about clothing amounted to a mania where neckwear was concerned.

In pre-war days he wore the ordinary single, perpendicular variety of collar, with sharp turn-over points, starched and white to match his shirts.

Before leaving England to join his laundry, Kidger, with a magnificent gesture, abandoned his fine collection of collars to his aunt, bidding her convert them to some patriotic end.  The fond lady, however, fearing lest anything should befall her nephew if a hot sector of the line moved up to the laundry, preserved them carefully, and Kidger was very glad to reclaim them on his demobilisation.

One unfortunate day Kidger’s morning paper contained one of those Fashions for Men columns, where he learned that the best people were wearing only soft collars, as they couldn’t stand being cooped up in starch after the freedom of uniform.  Kidger felt that as an ex-army man it was up to him to maintain any military tradition, and he immediately bought several dozen, soft white collars with long sharp points.  The fellow in the shop said they were correct.