‘You may know,’ she said, laughing. ‘Sewing in tuckers. I always sew tuckers on Saturdays, both for myself and for Eve.’
‘And, pray, what are tuckers?’
‘Tuckers’—she hesitated to find a suitable description, ‘tuckers are—well, tuckers.’ She took a neck of a dress which she had finished and put it round her throat. ‘Now you see. Now you understand. Tuckers are the garnishing, like parsley to a dish.’
‘And compliments to speech. So you do Eve’s as well as your own.’
‘O dear, yes; Eve cannot be trusted. She would forget all about them and wear dirty tuckers.’
‘But she worked hard enough burnishing the brass necklace.’
‘O yes, that shone! tuckers are simply—clean.’
‘My Lady Eve should have a lady’s-maid.’
‘Not whilst I am with her. I do all that is needful for her. When she marries she must have one, as she is helpless.’
‘You think Eve will marry?’