'This evening,' mused Victoria. 'Let me see, there's the gris perle.'
'No, mum, I've sent it to the cleaner's,' said Mary. Her fingers were deftly removing the sham curls from Victoria's back hair.
'You've worn it four times, mum,' she added reproachfully.
'Oh, have I? I don't think. . . . oh, that's all right, Mary.'
Victoria reflected that she would never have a well-trained maid if she finished sentences such as this. Four times! Well, she must give the Major his money's worth.
'You might wear your red Directoire, mum,' suggested Mary in the unemotional tones of one who is paid not to hear slips.
'I might. Yes. Perhaps it's a little loud for the Carlton.'
'Yes, mum,' said Mary without committing herself.
'After all, I don't think it is so loud.'
'No, mum,' said Mary in even tones. She deftly rolled her mistress' plaits round the crown.