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So when their leaving day came Sister Helen Vincula put a clean stiff-starched blue-checked apron on Bessie Bell, and they walked together to the Mall where the band was playing. Bessie Bell was always so glad when Sister Helen Vincula took her to the Mall in the afternoon when the band played.
The people who passed by looked, and turned to look again, at the little girl in the stiff-starched, faded blue checked apron leaning up against the lady in the crisp, dull silk. But Bessie Bell did not look at anybody who passed. And the lady did not look at anybody who passed. And the band kept on playing gay music.
Mère Jeanne, silver buckles on her shoes, her ample form surrounded almost but not quite by a great white, stiff-starched apron, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, took her place at the other side. And then the guests began to arrive.
Her dress I have now before me: it consisted of a stiff-starched cap and hood, a little hoop, a rich silk damask gown with large flowers. She leant on an ivory-headed crutch-cane, and was followed by a fat phthisicky dog of the pug kind, who commonly reposed on a cushion, and enjoyed the privilege of snarling at the servants, and occasionally biting their heels, with impunity.
He always wore round his neck a stiff-starched deep white handkerchief, not fastened with a bow in front, the ends being tucked in so as to be invisible.
It was Saturday market day and the town was crowded every description of vehicle in the main street and before the hotel, two enormous red 60-horse-power Mercedes farmers' gigs and donkey carts with cheeses and butter a couple generally inside the man with his blue smock and broad-brimmed hat, the woman with a high, clean, stiff-starched muslin cap, a knit shawl over her shoulders.
The children sidled away from the unequal contest and mingled with the crowd. Their feelings were too deep for words till at last Robert said 'That stiff-starched PIG! 'And after all our trouble! I'm hoarse with gassing to that trousered lady in India. 'The pig-lady's very, very nasty, said Jane.
"Sit down, Frances, there's a dear child," she said. "Now, I have been wishing for you more than for any one. I'm at my very worst to-day, dear. My poor back is so bad oh, the nerves, dear child, the nerves! I really feel that I can not speak a civil word to any one, and Jennings is so awkward, painfully awkward her very step jars me; and why will she wear those stiff-starched caps and aprons?
He wore his coat buttoned; and his dimpled double chin rested in the folds of a white neckerchief not one of your stiff-starched apoplectic cravats, but a good, easy, old-fashioned white neckcloth that a man might go to bed in and be none the worse for.
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