“I saw the prettiest thing to-day, mother—pretty for you!” She leaned forward, still gazing at her. “It would just suit you!”
“Yes?” Eleanor’s eyes met the look behind the words. “What was it?”
“A queer sort of garment—not a kimono exactly, and not a coat—just a garment.” She threw open her arms with a whimsical gesture.
Her mother’s look grew veiled. “Where was it?—where did you see it?”
“At Helen’s tea. Mrs. Martin had it.... She helped pour and she had it on when she came in. She threw it off in the hall—a kind of regal thing, you know!” She made another gesture and laughed. “And I thought in a flash of you!”
Richard More was looking at his wife—her glance met his.
“I am too old to wear a thing like that,” she said tranquilly.
The girl shook her head. “It wasn’t old, and it wasn’t young.... It was just like you!” She said it softly, half to herself under her breath, and she nodded to her father with a little shy pleasure in the words. “I kept thinking all the time we were driving—how beautiful you would look in it.”
“What color was it?” asked Richard More.
“A sort of blue shade—very deep and rich—and gold things running all over it—a perfectly stunning thing!”