“Oh, this surely is not too youthful a costume,” she asserted.
Philip eyed her over.
The light grey coat and skirt were plain enough, but the dainty white waistcoat and muslin chemisette offended Philip. The trim neatness of the fit gave him the idea of a tightly-laced corset underneath. No woman who was the mother of a grown-up son ought to have a figure like that!
The black hat—neither large nor small—with its chiffon trimmings, could not well be condemned. But the angle at which it was pinned on the bright hair was distinctly too coquettish.
“Your hat has got on one side,” Philip remarked.
“Has it?” exclaimed Mrs. Barrimore, putting up her well-gloved hands to feel it. “I think not.”
“Don’t you believe him!” cried Phyllis. “It is quite right. Philip, you are simply horrid! and you have a coffee stain on your shirt-front.”
Philip flushed angrily. Phyllis had touched him “on the raw.” He was most particular about the appearance of his linen, and he had discovered with no little annoyance this particular coffee-stain since his arrival at Hawk’s Nest.
“Never mind, Philip,” said Mrs. Barrimore soothingly. “You have left some shirts here and can change.”
Philip had not remembered this fortunate circumstance, and rushed off at once to his old room, which was at present occupied by Dan.