“Fill the air with ozone!” Tish scoffed.  “Fill Mrs. Ostermaier’s skull with ozone, instead of brains, more likely!”

Tish is a good woman—­a sweet woman, indeed; but she has a vein of gentle irony, which she inherited from her maternal grandfather, who was on the Supreme Bench of his country.  However, that spring she was inclined to be irritable.  She could not drive her car, and that was where the trouble really started.

Tish had taken up aesthetic dancing in Mareb, wearing no stays and a middy blouse and short skirt; and during a fairy dance, where she was to twirl on her right toes, keeping the three other limbs horizontal, she twisted her right lower limb severely.  Though not incapacitated, she could not use it properly; and, failing one day to put on the brake quickly, she drove into an open-front butter-and-egg shop.

[This was the time one of the newspapers headed the article:  “Even the Eggs Scrambled.”]

When Tish decided to have a chauffeur for a time she advertised.  There were plenty of replies, but all of the applicants smoked cigarettes—­a habit Tish very properly deplores.  The idea of securing a young woman was, I must confess, mine.

“Plenty of young women drive cars,” I said, “and drive well.  And, at least, they don’t light a cigarette every time one stops to let a train go by.”

“Huh!” Tish commented.  “And have a raft of men about all the time!”

Nevertheless, she acted on the suggestion, advertising for a young woman who could drive a car and had no followers.  Hutchins answered.

She was very pretty and not over twenty; but, asked about men, her face underwent a change, almost a hardening.  “You’ll not be bothered with men,” she said briefly.  “I detest them!”

And this seemed to be the truth.  Charlie Sands, for instance, for whose benefit this is being written, absolutely failed to make any impression on her.  She met his overtures with cold disdain.  She was also adamant to the men at the garage, succeeding in having the gasoline filtered through a chamois skin to take out the water, where Tish had for years begged for the same thing without success.

Though a dashing driver, Hutchins was careful.  She sat on the small of her back and hurled us past the traffic policemen with a smile.

[Her name was really Hutchinson; but it took so long to say it at the rate she ran the car that Tish changed it to Hutchins.]

Really the whole experiment seemed to be an undoubted success, when Aggie got the notion of Canada into her head.  Now, as it happened, owing to Tish’s disapproval, Aggie gave up the Canada idea in favor of Nantucket, some time in June; but she had not reckoned with Tish’s subconscious self.  Tish was interested that spring in the subconscious self.

You may remember that, only a year or so before, it had been the fourth dimension.

[She became convinced that if one were sufficiently earnest one could go through closed doors and see into solids.  In the former ambition she was unsuccessful, obtaining only bruises and disappointment; but she did develop the latter to a certain extent, for she met the laundress going out one day and, without a conscious effort, she knew that she had the best table napkins pinned to her petticoat.  She accused the woman sternly—­and she had six!]