that some women are so foolish and obstinate as to wear skirts when
they cycle! . . . To think that women have a unique opportunity of
putting themselves at their ease and releasing their limbs from prison,
and yet won't do so! If they fancy they look the prettier in short
skirts, like schoolgirls, they are vastly mistaken. . . . Skirts are rank
heresy.'

Well, so far as Englishwomen are concerned, M. Zola himself has become a
heretic. 'Rationals,' he has more than once said to me of recent times,
'are not suited to the lithe and somewhat spare figure of the average
English girl. Moreover, I doubt if there is a costumier in England who
knows how to cut "rationals" properly. Such women as I have seen in
rationals in England looked to me horrible. They had not the proper
figure for the garment, and the garment itself was badly made. For
rationals to suit a woman, her figure should be of the happy medium,
neither too slim nor over-developed. Now the great bulk of your girls are
extremely slim, and appear in skirts to advantage. In cycling, moreover,
they carry themselves much better than the majority of Frenchwomen do.
They sit their machines gracefully, and the skirt, instead of being a
mere bundle of stuff, falls evenly and fittingly like a necessary
adjunct--the drapery which is needed to complete and set off the
ensemble.'

At the same time, the master does not cry 'haro' on the 'bloomer.' It is
admirably suited, he maintains, to the average Frenchwoman, who is more
inclined to a reasonable plumpness than her English sister. 'The skirt to
England,' says he, 'the bloomer to France.' The whole question is one of
physique and latitude. The Esquimaux lady would look ungainly and feel
uncomfortable if she exchanged her moose furs for the wisp of calico
which is patronised by the lady of Senegal; and in the like way the
Englishwoman is manifestly ungainly and uncomfortable when she borrows
the breeches of the Parisienne.

This digression may seem to carry one away from Wimbledon, but I should
mention that many of the points enunciated were touched upon by M. Zola
for the first time, while we postponed further house-hunting to drive
over Wimbledon Common. The historic mill and Caesar's Camp, and the
picturesque meres were all viewed before the horses' heads were turned to
the town once more.

By this time the master had come to the conclusion that however pleasant
Wimbledon might be, it was no fit place for him, and that