On Sunday morning she looked very beautiful in a dress of foulard, silky and sweeping, and blue as a jaybird’s feather, and in a large cream hat covered with many roses, mostly crimson. Nobody could admire her enough. But in the evening, when she was going out, she asked again:
“Chubby, have you got my gloves?”
“Which?” asked William.
“My new black SUEDE.”
“No.”
There was a hunt. She had lost them.
“Look here, mother,” said William, “that’s the fourth pair she’s lost since Christmas — at five shillings a pair!”