"I know."
"Wouldn't it spoil that dress?"
"One'd think you had a sloven for a mother. Don't I always dress?"
"But that's a long skirt. And you're not putting on a shirt waist."
"I'll change after breakfast."
"Oh." This, however, contented him for a moment only. He eyed her critically as she made one insignificant little change after another, displaying a fussiness quite unusual. "I guess we're to have company—maybe."
"Not at all. We never have people to breakfast. What are you puzzling about?"
"Why didn't you put on the rain dress?"
Courtney's delicate skin was showing more than its normal color. She shook her head laughingly at him—this child whose questions were forcing her to see a truth she was striving might and main to hide from herself. "You don't like this dress?"
"Yes, I like 'em all. It isn't the dress, exactly."