"Helping Mrs. Darling to choose a blouse," said I, with a nod in the direction of Mrs. D., who at that moment was entangled in the georgette creation which the little minx was removing from above.
Now Katherine may be a cat, but she knows how to behave, and she didn't turn a hair.
"How sporting of you!" she exclaimed, with a sympathetic glance towards Mrs. D., who emerged from the entanglements of the blouse like a diver coming to the surface to take breath.
"That'll be ninepence, and you can keep the change," remarked the old lady, with a satirical glance towards the saleswoman. (I may add, in parenthesis, that the offer was not intended to be taken seriously.) "Talk about skinnin' a rabbit! I dunno who they make these blouses for!" Then she caught sight of Katherine, and assumed what one might call her "company smile" with a jerk of her facial machinery.
"This is my sister, Mrs. Darling," said I, "the one who lives in Curzon Street."
There was a moment's pause whilst Mrs. D. adjusted herself to the situation, then, getting on the stilts with much more ease than she had got out of the blouse, she said, "Hindeed! I 'ope you're well and can get wot you want, mam. Shoppin' ain't ixactly a dream in these days. They don't seem to make anythink suitable for middle-aged people like your ladyship and myself."
"But don't you think that's very kind of them," argued Katherine with undiminished amiability. "You see, they want to help us keep up the illusion of youth."
"Well, I got a few grains er common sense," announced the old lady, "and ain't goin' to make a igiot er meself in one er them tom fool blouses. I know what I want. I got in me mind's eye, but I ain't seen it in this shop."
"Why not take the advice offered with such dreary persistency in the tube, 'Get it at Harrods'!'" suggested Katherine.
"A good idea," said I to Mrs. D., "and we'll explore Kensington at the same time. We haven't been there yet."