At the first opportunity he said:
“Mummie, why do you do that?”
“Because it is pretty,” she replied.
There must be something wrong then, he decided. Either she had used the wrong word, or the natural forms which he had decided were “pretty” were not pretty at all. The train of thought was a little complex, so he questioned afresh:
“What are they for when you’ve done?”
“Antimacassars.”
“What’s antercassars?”
“It means something you put over the back of a chair to prevent the grease from people’s hair spoiling the coverings.” Mrs. Rendall’s grandmother had provided her with this valuable piece of knowledge.
“Oh,” said Wynne.
His eyes roamed round the precise semi-circle of small drawing-room chairs, each complete with its detachable antimacassar. As he looked it struck him that the backs of these chairs were so low that no grown-up person could bring his head into contact with them unless he sat upon the floor. Wherefore it was clear that his mother was making provision against a danger which did not exist.