He opened the gate to let her pass out in front of him.
“You won’t take cold?” he said anxiously.
“Oh, no, not a night like this.”
“I don’t know,” he remarked, as they sauntered up the pathway together, “that there is much protection in a frock like this.”
“It’s not a frock, dear, it’s a tea-gown.”
“Oh, is it?”
“What the French call saute de lit.”
“It’s flimsy. I don’t know that I altogether like it,” said Alfred, slipping his hand under her arm.
“It has the advantage of being cool,” said Regina.
“Yes, I daresay it is cool, but this kind of gown makes you look—” He wobbled his hand about to express something that was not very clear to either of them.