Some of me is a weary forty-five
but the rest is still in pigtails. It's curious, isn't it?
considering that I'm nearly twenty. Let's go through the wood,
my stockings are coming down." Out of sight of the house in a
clearing of the loosely planted alder-coppice by the bridge, she
pulled them up, slowly and candidly: white cotton stockings
supported by garters of black elastic. "After all," she
continued, "I'm housekeeper, and in common politeness we shall
have to dine you back, so I really did want to see what sort of
things Captain Hyde likes. But it's no use, he won't like
anything we give him. Not though we strain our resources to the
uttermost. Laura! would Mrs. Fryar give me the receipt for that
vol-au-vent? I don't suppose we could run to it, but I should
love to try."

"Mrs. Fryar would be flattered," said Laura, finding a chair in
the forked stem of a wild apple-tree, while Isabel sat plump
down on the net of moss-fronds and fine ivy and grey wood-violets
at her feet. "But, my darling, you're not to worry your small
head over vol-au-vents! Lawrence will like one of your own roast
chickens just as well, or any simple thing--"

"Oh no, Lawrence won't!" Isabel gave a little laugh. "Excuse my
contradicting you, but Lawrence isn't a bit fond of simple
things. That's why he doesn't like me, because I'm simple,
simple as a daisy. I don't mind--much," she added truthfully.
"I can survive his most extended want of interest. After all
what can you expect if you go out to dinner in the same nun's
veiling frock you wore when you were confirmed, with the tucks
let down and the collar taken out? O! Laura, I wish someone
would give me twenty pounds on condition that I spent it all on
dress! I'd buy--I'd buy--oh,--silk stockings, and long
gloves, and French cambric underclothes, and chiffon nightgowns
like those Yvonne wears (but they aren't decent: still that
doesn't matter so long as you're not married, and they are so
pretty)! And a homespun tailor-made suit with a seam down the
back and open tails: and--and--one of those real Panamas that
you can pull through a wedding ring: and--oh! dear, I am greedy!
It must be because I never have any clothes at all that I'm
always wanting some. I ache all over when I look at catalogues.
Isn't it silly?"

If so it was a form of silliness with which Mrs. Clowes was in
full sympathy. In her world, to be young and pretty gave a woman
a claim on Fate to provide he