Then suddenly she swooped out of space, out of the infinite unknown, and hit me.  She always hits me when she comes near me, and I infer she hits everyone she comes across.  She hit me this time in the chest with her elbow and knocked me away from the door-handle.  She hit me very hard; indeed, she was as fierce as I have ever known her.  With her there were two nieces and a nephew, and the nephew hit me too.  He was a horrid little boy in an Eton suit of the kind that they do not wear at Eton, and he hit me with his head and pushed at me with his little pink hands.  The nieces might have been about twenty-two and thirteen respectively, and I infer that they were apprenticed to her.  All four people seemed madly excited.  “It’s just starting!” they screamed, and the train was, indeed, slowly moving.  Their object—­so far as they had an object and were not animated by mere fury—­appeared to be to assault me and then escape in the train.  The lady in blue got in and then came backwards out again, sweeping the smaller girl behind her upon the two others, who were engaged in hustling me.  “It’s ‘smoking!’” she cried.  I could have told her that, if she had asked instead of hitting me.  The elder girl, by backing dexterously upon me, knocked my umbrella out of my hand, and when I stooped to pick it up the little boy knocked my hat off.  I will confess they demoralised me with their archaic violence.  I had some thought of joining in their wild amuck, whooping, kicking out madly, perhaps assaulting a porter,—­I think the lady in blue would have been surprised to find what an effective addition to her staff she had picked up,—­but before I could collect my thoughts sufficiently to do any definite thing the whole affair was over.  A porter was slamming doors on them, the train was running fast out of the station, and I was left alone with an unmannerly newsboy and an unmannerly porter on the platform.  I waited until the porter was out of the way, and then I hit the newsboy for laughing at me, but even with that altercation it was a tedious wait for the next train to Wimbledon.

This is the latest of my encounters with this lady, but it has decided me to keep silence no longer.  She has been persecuting me now for years in all parts of London.  It may be I am her only victim, but, on the other hand, she may be in the habit of annoying the entire class of slender and inoffensive young men.  If so, and they will communicate with me through the publishers of this little volume, we might do something towards suppressing her, found an Anti-Energetic-Lady-League, or something of that sort.  For if there was ever a crying wrong that clamoured for suppression it is this violent woman.