“She gets the wildest horses in that buggy, and a horrid snappish little cur belonging to the German sitting in front, and then she drives out alone. I don’t think it’s at all proper for a woman to drive out alone; I wouldn’t allow it if she was my sister. The other morning, I don’t know how it happened, I was going in the way from which she was coming, and that little beast — they call him Doss — began to bark when he saw me — he always does, the little wretch — and the horses began to spring, and kicked the splash-board all to pieces. It was a sight to see, Jemima! She has got the littlest hands I ever saw — I could hold them both in one of mine, and not know that I’d got anything except that they were so soft; but she held those horses in as though they were made of iron. When I wanted to help her she said, ‘No, thank you; I can manage them myself. I’ve got a pair of bits that would break their jaws if I used them well,’ and she laughed and drove away. It’s so unwomanly.