"
"What was he talking about? Could you tell?"
"I soon guessed. The fact is I am not very apt to wear gloves when I can
help it, especially if I am working at anything. At the moment the old
Chinese gentleman came up I was holding the reins of my pony with bare
hands (my gloves being in my pocket), and as the morning was cold, my
fingers looked rather blue. Having ascertained by feeling that my
coat-sleeves would not turn down any lower than my wrists, he touched my
hands softly, and made courteous signs, indicating that he was about to
do me a good turn. Having signalled a polite disapprobation of the
imperfect nature of my sleeves, he drew my attention to his own deep
wide ones. Turning them back so as to expose the hands, the fine fur
lining lay like a rich trimming above his wrists. Then with a glance of
infinite triumph he bespoke my close attention as, shivering, to express
cold, he turned the long sleeves, each a quarter of a yard, over his
hands, and stuffing each hand into the opposite sleeve they were warm
and comfortable, as it were in a muff, which was a part of his coat.
More sensible than our muffs too, the fur was inside instead of out.
"He was the very pink of politeness, but at this point his pride of
superior intelligence could not be restrained, and he broke into fits of
delighted laughter, in which the horse-boys, the spectators, my friends,
and (as is customary in China) everybody within sight and hearing
joined.
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