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"It's hot weather for young bright flowers to shed their fragrance on the London streets," replied Miss Slowcum; "it's the kind of weather when flowers fade. I should imagine, Mrs. Mortlock, that your 'continual reader' was doing better for herself in the country." Mrs. Mortlock's face became very red.
Mortlock's Jasmine had promised Poppy that she was to spend her holiday with her, and Poppy had been getting ready her toilet with a view to the occasion. Her dress, after all, was only an ordinary and somewhat shabby brown one, but she had adorned her tight-fitting black jacket with a sky-blue bow, which hung down in front with what she considered "truly hartistic folds."
"But, my dear Sir Griffin, that's of course," said Mrs. Carbuncle. "Oh; that's of course, is it?" said Sir Griffin, turning up his nose again. "Where did that Delph bowl come from?" "It is one of Mortlock's finest Etruscan vases," said Mrs. Carbuncle. "Oh, I thought that Etruscan vases came from from somewhere in Greece or Italy," said Sir Griffin. "I declare that you are shocking," said Mrs.
Mortlock's sitting-room, but Jasmine began to enter into an earnest conversation with Poppy. "Are you quite ready, Poppy? Oh, you've got your working dress on still; how tiresome!" "I won't be a minute changing, Miss Jasmine; the hours for the working maid's holiday are from ten to ten, and I won't be denied them.
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