It was Mrs. Seymour Fentolin who stood there, a little dog under each arm; a large hat, gay with flowers, upon her head. She wore patent shoes with high heels, and white silk stockings. She had, indeed, the air of being dressed for luncheon at a fashionable restaurant.
From a story in The Popular Magazine.

The lauded lilies of the field

Who toil not—neither do they spin,

The palm sartorial must yield

To Mrs. Seymour Fentolin.

A hat, French heels, white stockings, dogs!

Not even Solomon could win

The championship for showy togs

From Mrs. Seymour Fentolin.