Here is one of those girls in black dresses who so captivated the eye one day in Aix-en-Provence. But this subject swings a bolas, with great expertise. She stylishly stepped off the path onto the grass in the park and showed the resident bolas swingers that she was a classier act. But soon all she or they thought about was the swinging of the borrowed bolas. In Victorian times young women were expected to develop accomplishments with which to entertain the family circle. My vote goes to this action heroine. Put her in one of those Victorian drawing-rooms and let her astonish the past with her swinging bolas. Like so much in life, it is all in the wrist. She hardly moves. She breathes. The bolas is almost invisible. It whirs. What is she doing and why? She swings her bolas and we are all with her, because she is at one with the bolas and we are at one with both.

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