RANSVESTIA

impertinent child. Here, go and get some lemonade and cakes from the green room. And hurry up." She handed Jocelyn some coins and, totally quelled, the younger girl hurried off.

Claire then apologized for her sister, took me by the hand and led me to some chairs in one corner. She chatted about school and what we would be doing during the holidays, but more than once I saw her eyes pass over me appraisingly, from my dainty suede shoes to my wig and earrings. Somehow, with her, I did not mind,

"You know," she said, “you're awfully clever. I forgot you and watched Lady Sneerwell on stage. That was such a pretty dress you had on at first." She paused. “But those stockings are quite awful. Look, Julian (that was her brother) sent me a dozen pairs of pure silk ones from Paris a few days ago. Let me give you a pair of them, they're much smarter than those old things you've got on." I thanked her and said she was very kind. Jossy then came back with a small tray of refreshments.

I learned later that it was a younger brother of Claire's at my school who had delivered to the dressing-room a small and daintily-wrapped parcel before the next evening's performance. Inside were the stockings, exquisitely sheer and delicate things that must have cost the earth and, my fingers trembled as I unfolded them. a pair of dainty bloomers of soft and very fine pink satin. And a neat little note on scented paper: "I don't want the stockings back, but you might return the others when the play's finished. I'm sorry Jossy embarrassed you so. Love, Claire.”

I cannot unravel the emotions that swept over me. But I can again almost feel those stockings as I tenderly eased them up my slim young legs and fastened them with great care the chemical industry has done wonderful things with synthetics since that time, but I do not think that the finest of today's stockings or panti-hose can compare with the sheer luxury and the sense of opulence bestowed on the wearer by fine stock- ings of pure silk. My wife bears this out, and has said, moreover, that such stockings lasted far longer than nylons.

"You're getting fancy, aren't you?" was Mrs. Ellis's only comment as she saw me step into Claire's bloomers, hurriedly settling the elastic round my waist and smoothing down my slip. I trembled with pleasure. Incidentally, bloomers by this time were not those long knee-length things (and even over-the-knee) of the previous decade. They were in fact little longer in the leg than baby-doll bloomers, quite snug-fitting

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