In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. " "He had better bring half-a-dozen," said the Amazon, taking up a cloth-yard wand, and quietly seating herself; "one won't do. That dress is thirty years old, if a day. Her head dipped deeply into the current, and she narrowly escaped being swamped.
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