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Her short, plain blue serge walking-frock disclosed the form of her limbs and left them free, and it made her look younger even than she was. Its simplicity suited her gestures and took grace from them. But she wore the old thing without the least interest in it almost unconsciously. She had none of the preoccupations caused by the paraphernalia of existence. She scarcely knew what it was to own.
She looked her best in a smart walking-frock of white tweed, and a red toque; for the tailor costume modifies where the elaborate accentuates. Her brilliant eyes melted as Brathland's name was mentioned; naturally at once. "What a dreadful shocking thing!" she cried. "I do not realize it at all. Poor dear, we were such friends and I saw him only a few hours before. Have you heard anything more?"
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