"Nothing more utilitarian than silk stockings, most dear and unexpectedly frivolous lady," he vowed, "shall be my tributes of devotion to you henceforth!"
"And mine shall be garters, fickle Mehitable!" cried Doctor Jim, dropping on his knee beside Doctor John, and swearing with like solemnity. "Silk garters,—and such buckles for silk garters!"
"And little silk shoes, and such big buckles for little silk shoes!" said Doctor John.
"And silk petticoats!" went on Doctor Jim, antiphonally. "Brocaded silk, flowered silk, watered silk, painted silk, corded silk, tabby silk, paduasoy silk, alamode silk, taffety silk, charrydarry—" till Mistress Mehitable put her hand over his mouth and stopped the stream of his eruditions.
"And silk—and silk—" broke in Doctor John, once more, but stammeringly, because his knowledge of the feminine wardrobe was failing him. "Tut, tut, silk night-rails, indeed! The scoundrel! The vagabond Welshman! May I die of Jim Pigeon's physic if I don't make shift—make silk shift—"
"John!" cried Mistress Mehitable, in tone of rebuke, and pushing them both away from her. "Get up at once, both of you, and don't be so silly!"
Her eyes shone, and her cheeks were flushed with mingled pleasure and embarrassment, and Glenowen realised that she was much younger and prettier than he had been wont to think.
"O Mehitable-demoralised-by-Barbara!" vowed Doctor John, towering over her. "Your sweet and now perverted soul shall be satisfied with gewgaws! I, John Pigeon, swear it!"
