This with a cutting severity that, however, failed to wilt the offending David. On the contrary, it only seemed to increase his anxiety.
“How was she dressed?” he demanded.
“Dressed? As though that made any difference! Well”—seeing that David really expected an answer—“she wore a gray riding-suit.”
“Gray?”
“No; now I think, it wasn’t a riding-suit. It was a black walking-dress.”
“Sure it was a black walking-dress?”
“Pshaw! Who cares how she was dressed?”
“I do. I want to find out who, if anybody, took the liberty to occupy my trike while I wasn’t present.”
“It was strange; but, really, I don’t know how she was dressed. I thought at first that she wore a gray riding-suit. Then, when I looked again, I thought it was a black street-dress.”
“What did she wear on her head?”