'He's coming this afternoon, Anne,' Hyacinth said. 'See that I'm really alone today—I mean that I'm out to everyone.'
'You think, then, that he really will propose today?'
'Don't be so horribly explicit. Don't you think his having to go the other day—because of Lady Cannon—would lead to a sort of crisis? I mean, either he wouldn't come here again, or else—'
'I suppose it would,' said Anne. 'At least, it would if he had some glimmering of his own intentions. But he's in such a very undecided state.'
'Well, don't let's worry about his intentions. At any rate, he's coming to see me. The question is, what shall I wear?'
'It doesn't matter in the least. You attach a ridiculous amount of importance to dress.'
'Perhaps; but I must wear something. So what shall it be?'
'Well, if you want to look prepared for a proposal—so as to give him a sort of hint—you'd better wear your pale mauve dress. It's becoming, and it looks festive and spring-like.'
'Oh, Anne! Why, it's ever so much too smart! It would be quite ridiculous. Just like you, advising pale mauve crêpe de Chine and Irish lace for a quiet visit in the afternoon from a friend!'
'Oh! all right. Then wear your blue tailor-made dress—and the little boots with the cloth tops.'