“Why do you call it out of date?”
“The blue isn’t right. Girls are wearing a French blue now, to suggest the uniform of the French soldiers. And pin-tucks are quite out; deep folds are the right thing.”
“Well, Gratia, I don’t know one goods from another, but I can learn.”
She laughed. “Stay all night, and see me this evening in my Veronese green. Tomorrow I’ll put on my silk duvetyn because it matches my eyes. Can you guess the color?”
“Midnight blue.”
“Wrong. It’s gentian.”
“Gratia, you get your eyes from your father.”
“I know it, and it worries me a little. Do you suppose near-sightedness is hereditary?”
Something in her anxious tone made him think of Jimmy’s eyes. It gave him a ray of hope, but he dared not presume upon it.
“Gratia, I don’t know. But if there were myopia in my family and I feared my children would catch it, I’d consult the greatest living authority. I don’t feel called upon to name him. I am bound to remind you that the Mahans are not short sighted. They can see anything at a distance except field-guns.”