He touched the dress she had taken off, and asked:
“What have you been doing?”
Annette looked at him, reflected in her glass. Her just-brightened lips smiled, rather full, rather ironical.
“Enjoying myself,” she said.
“Oh!” answered Soames glumly. “Ribbandry, I suppose.”
It was his word for all that incomprehensible running in and out of shops that women went in for. “Has Fleur got her summer dresses?”
“You don't ask if I have mine.”
“You don't care whether I do or not.”
“Quite right. Well, she has; and I have mine—terribly expensive.”
“H'm!” said Soames. “What does that chap Profond do in England?”