The news impressed. Even the young woman in black permitted herself by a facial gesture to show that she was interested in the war as well as in tea-gowns, and apart from its effect on tea-gowns.
"Oh! Dear!" murmured Laurencine.
"Is it serious?" Lois demanded.
"You bet it is!" George replied.
"But what's Sir John French doing, then? I say, Laurencine, I think I shall have that pale blue one, after all,
if you don't mind." The black young woman went across to the piano and brought the pale blue one. "George, don't you think so?"
The gown was deferentially held out for his inspection.
"Well, I can't judge if I don't see it on, can I?" he said, yielding superciliously to their mood. Women were incurable. Namur had fallen, but the room was full of finery, and the finery claimed attention. And if Paris had fallen, it would have been the same. So he told himself. Nevertheless the spectacle of the heaped finery and its absorbed priestess was very agreeable. Lois rose. Laurencine and the priestess helped her to remove the white gown she wore, and to put on the blue one. The presence of the male somewhat disturbed the priestess, but the male had signified a wish and the wish was flattering and had to be fulfilled. George, cynically, enjoyed her constraint. He might at least have looked out of the window, but he would not.
"Yes, that's fine," he decided carelessly, when the operation was done. He did not care a pin which tea-gown Lois had.
"I knew you'd like it better," said Lois eagerly. The other two, in words or by demeanour, applauded his august choice.