"No, I am not ... in twenty minutes—half-an-hour at the most."
"It would be impossible for me to dress you in less than three-quarters of an hour."
"I shall be dressed in half-an-hour. Go and tell the coachman at once; I shall have had my bath when you return."
Her dressing was accomplished amid curt phrases. "It doesn't matter, that will do.... I can't afford to waste time.... Come, Merat, try to get on with my hair."
And while Merat buttoned her boots, she buttoned her gloves. She wore a grey, tailor-made dress and a blue veil tied round a black hat with ostrich feathers. Escaping from her maid's hands, she ran downstairs. But the dining-room door opened, and Lady Duckle intervened.
"My dear girl, you really cannot go out before you have had something to eat."
"I cannot stay; I'll get something at the theatre."
"Do eat a cutlet, it will not take a moment ... a mouthful of omelette. Think of your voice."
There were engravings after Morland on the walls, and the silver on the breakfast-table was Queen Anne—the little round tea urn Owen and Evelyn had picked up the other day in a suburban shop; the horses, whose glittering red hides could be seen through the window, had been bought last Saturday at Tattersall's. Evelyn went to the window to admire them, and Lady Duckle's thoughts turned to the coachman.
"He sent in just now to ask for a map of London. It appears he doesn't know the way, yet, when I took up his references, I was assured that he knew London perfectly."