"These things run from about eighteen fifty to the early nineties; mostly Victorian, if you must be educated, Peggy," she said.
"I suppose I must, but look, look, look, at all these beauties."
On rows of little pegs driven into the low rafters of the irregular triangle that formed the closet were the carefully preserved relics of three generations of dainty feminine finery. Dresses of taffeta and dimity and poplin, in all the flower-like gradations of colour that our grandmothers remember their mothers and grandmothers looking most distinguished in. Not only gowns, but capes and dolmans and dressing sacques, and, packed away in a barricade of old-fashioned, flowered bandboxes, were the bonnets and hats, and even some of the gay little bags and muffs that complemented the costumes.
"I never saw anything so wonderful in my life," Ruth Farraday said.
"Oh, let's try them on. Let's get Grandmummy to tell us about them. Let's dress Ruth up and take a snapshot of her. Let's——" Peggy's breath failed her.
"'Oh! let's try them on'"
"Here's Grandmother now," Elizabeth said.
Grandmother, making her placid way through the outer chamber, smiled, and held out her hand to Ruth Farraday.