“But ready made! You know how I hate the shop costumes. You can always see what they are. Madame Beaumont shall make it; I really believe she is the only woman who can make a dress in Sydney. And she takes two days.”
“Really, my dear Bertha, you must be mad. Do you think they will adjourn the inquest two days for you to have a dress made?”
“I don’t care. They can kill me if they like. I wish I was dead.”
“I shall go to Farmer’s, and tell them to send over some costumes for you to choose.”
“I won’t look at them.”
He stood up to go. He had half crossed the room when she called him back softly—
“Pro?”—and she put her arms round his neck and kissed him. “Tell them I must have a waistcoat body.”
At this moment there was a knock on the door. Bertha hastily turned to a mirror to arrange her hair, before saying “Come in.”
The new arrival was a young man, well but loudly dressed, clean shaved, and well groomed. He entered quietly, respectfully.
“As an old friend, hearing the sad news, I called to see if I could be of any use in what must be a most trying time.”