"Economics! Fiddlesticks!"
"All right! I'll bring you home a brochure to-morrow on Conserving Mental Waste. Maybe you'll believe it when you see it in print."
"You'll never make me believe it's good economics or anything else, to wear stockings like those." Martha held up a pair run from heel to knee, with a great gap at the toes.
"And you'll never make me believe it isn't a wicked waste of time to mend them like that." Jean seized a pair from the neat pile. "You can't tell which was the original thread and which was the mend."
"I suppose it would be all right if I mended them so they would hurt your feet. After all, Jean, logic is not your strong point, whatever you or your brochures may say."
Jean hugged her. "I'm rather coming to that belief myself, mummy. What time did you get back?"
"About five. I didn't suppose you came home to dinner, but——"
"Mummy, is there some sherbet in the ice-box?"
"I——"
"Is there some mousse in the ice-box?"