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The mirror gave back a vision of beauty but behind that vision in the depths of limitless space Jean's eyes discerned something which made her change her gown. Quite soberly she got herself into a little nun's frock of gray with collars and cuffs of transparent white, and above it all was the glory of her crinkled hair. Neither then nor afterwards could she analyze her reasons for the change.
Two hundred captives clad in scarlet robes carried cups of gold and flasks of silver behind them came thirty others, each staggering under an enormous purse of sequins; yet another two hundred brought collars of precious stones or bales of the choicest goods; and a further two hundred were laden with sacks of small coin.
"Catherine," he said, "I think if I were you that I would not marry Sybil to Molyneux. It struck me to-day that his eyeglass-chain was of last year's pattern, and I am not sure that he is sound on the subject of collars. You know how important these things are to a young man who has to make his own way in the world.
He did not enthuse about your cuffs and collars, gush over the neatness of your darning. Try a little less scolding of Mary Ann, and practise a laugh once a day: you might get back the dainty curves. It would be worth trying. It was a pretty mouth once. Who invented that mischievous falsehood that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach?
Smith and I were both arrayed in rough tweeds, and anticipating the labours before us, had dispensed with collars and wore soft mufflers. It was hard to be called upon to face a professional interview dressed thus, and having a big tweed cap pulled down over my eyes. Across the writing-table we confronted one another, in dismayed silence, whilst, below, the bell sent up its ceaseless clangour.
"He suddenly said: 'Oh, I have a beautiful specimen in the next room. I'll go and get it. "He ran to the door quickly, and both sides opened as though for a theatrical effect. "In a large room, all in disorder, in the midst of skirts, collars, waists lying around on the floor, stood a tall, dried-up creature.
Chinese letterings dance gayly on the yellow packages. Sing Lee, from behind the counter, stares out of the window. The Hyde Park police station is across the way. People pass and glance up: Sing Lee, Hand Laundry, 5222 Lake Park Avenue. Come in. There is something immaculate about Sing Lee. Sing Lee has been ironing out collars and shirts for thirty-five years.
When he came to them, they were on quite friendly terms with each other; his mother still continued to see that his clothes were the best that could be bought, his shirts as well got up as they could be, and that he had fine cambric night shirts and high collars.
Then she fastened the lamp shade together with them, and tried one day to introduce them instead of pearl buttons as efficient anchorage for cuffs and collars. And she made a new handle for the little drawer under the inkstand with one. Indeed, the literary household is held together, so to speak, by paper-fasteners, and how other people get along without them we are at a loss to imagine.
For many persons this is sufficient to deënergize the organism. At the present time there are two trends in the sex sphere, so far as women are concerned. There is the masculine trend, which is usually called feminism. Women tend to take up the work formerly exclusively belonging to men; they tend to dress more like men, with flat shoes, collars and ties, and tailor-made clothes.
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