"Do you know what I'll tell you?" said her husband meditatively: "Don't go!"
Flutter-Duck threw him a fiery look.
"Oh well," said Rachel, shrugging her shoulders and thrusting forward her lip contemptuously, "it'll have to do."
"No, it won't—lend me your pink one."
"I'm not going to have my pink one dirtied, too," grumbled Rachel.
"Do you hear what I say?" exclaimed Flutter-Duck, with increasing wrath. "Give me the pink wrap! When the mother says is said!" And she looked around the group of spectators, in search of sympathy with her trials and admiration for her maternal dignity.
"I can never keep anything for myself," said Rachel sullenly. "You never take care of anything."
"I took care of you," screamed Flutter-Duck, goaded beyond endurance by the thought that her neighbours were witnessing this filial disrespect. "And a fat lot of good it's done me."
"Yes, much care you take of me. You only think of enjoying yourself. It's young girls who ought to go out, not old women."
"You impudent face!" And with an irresistible impulse of savagery, a reversion to the days of Médiâni, Flutter-Duck swung round her arm, and struck Rachel violently on the cheek with her white-gloved hand.