“I really don't care for such moving accidents; I always skip them in the newspapers. What of my mourning,—is much crape worn?”
“A great deal of crape, my Lady, and in 'bouffes' down the dress.”
“With bugles or without? I see by your hesitation, sir, you have forgotten about the bugles.”
“No, my Lady, I have them,” said he, proudly; “small acorns of Jet are also worn on points of the flounces, and Madame Frontin suggested that, as your Ladyship dislikes black so much—”
“But who said as much, sir?” broke she in, angrily.
“And the caviare, Mr. Spicer,—have you remembered the caviare?” lisped out Lady Grace.
“Yes, my Lady; but Fortnum's people are afraid some of it may prove a failure. There was something, I don't know what, happened to the fish in the Baltic this year.”
“Who ventured to say black was unbecoming to me?” asked Lady Lackington, changing her question, and speaking more angrily.
“It was Frontin, my Lady, who remarked that you once had said nothing would ever induce you to wear that odious helmet widows sometimes put on.”
“Oh dear; and I have such a fancy for it,” exclaimed Lady Grace.