'I wonder if these things will do?' she said, as she put them out on the table.
'Oh, they're sure to do,' said Edith; 'they're perfect.'
'My dear, wait till you see them. I don't think I've completed all your list.' She took out a piece of paper.
'Where did you get everything?' Edith asked, without much interest.
'At Boots', principally. Then the novels—Arnold Bennett, Maxwell—Oh, and I've got you the poem: 'What is it?' by Gilbert Frankau.'
'No, you mean, 'One of us',' corrected Edith.
'Then white serge for nurse to make Dilly's skirts—skirts a quarter of a yard long!—how sweet!—and heaps and heaps of muslin, you see, for her summer dresses. Won't she look an angel? Oh, and you told me to get some things to keep Archie quiet in the train.' She produced a drum, a trumpet, and a mechanical railway train. 'Will that do?'
'Beautifully.'
'And here's your travelling cloak from the other place.'
'It looks lovely,' said Edith.