"How shriekingly funny."
The Swansea: the gilt letters slanted down the glass door. They were in the elevator that had a familiar heavy oilsmell. Nan was still laughing. Under her laughter she was pleased to be getting back to her apartment. All afternoon she had looked forward to seeing how far her dress would be along.
"O, how do you do, Miss Taylor. I was just going," came Miss Spence's voice from the bedroom. "Now I can try fitting ... It was such a lovely afternoon, too lovely for words for those who can afford to go out in it... O, how do you do, Miss Fitzhugh, you'll be able to tell us what you think of the dress ... If you don't mind, we can fit it right now, because I mustn't be home late this evening and the cars are so crowded." Miss Spence was a little woman who talked continually, her mouth bristling with pins, in an even whiny voice; her hands were all the time darting about in front of her like lizards.
"What a beautiful blue," Fitzie was saying. "O, my dear, what a treat to see it fitted."
"Too lovely for words," echoed Miss Spence.
"It must have cost an enormous lot."
"Nonsense ... Fitzie, d'you mind putting some water to boil in the kitchenette ... When do you think you can have it ready, Miss Spence?"
"O, dear, now let me think; would day after tomorrow do?"
"But I want to wear it to dinner tomorrow. My aunt is giving one of her musical evenings."
"O, how lovely that must be. O, I must try." Miss Spence's little hands fluttered up and down the satiny front of the dress. "How about length?"