As Mrs. Updike, once launched, showed every symptom of going on for ever, Mrs. Belton gently interrupted her and suggested that she might care to knit seaboot stockings, as the wool was beautifully greasy and might be good for her hands.
“My father used to say I had nice hands, like his grandmother,” said Mrs. Updike, rising and dropping her bag mouth downwards.
At these words Mrs. Belton and Mrs. Perry, as they found on comparing notes afterwards, nearly cried, and each confessed that while grabbling (as Mrs. Belton said) or grubbling (as Mrs. Perry preferred to say) among the legs of the table to collect the contents of Mrs. Updike’s bag, she had seized the chance of dashing her hand across her eyes and sniffing.
Mrs. Updike then remembered that her husband had asked for dinner early
