CHAPTER XIMrs. Spooner’s letter arrived at breakfast time next day. Meade read it, and enquired in a laughing voice,
“What on earth is a spencer?”
It was a bright sunny morning. Her heart laughed and sang. Her cheeks had colour and her voice lilted. Everything in the garden was quite extraordinarily lovely.
Mrs. Underwood, looking across the table, said,
“Good gracious—he’s not writing to you about underwear, is he?”
“It’s not Giles—it’s Mrs. Spooner. She wants a spencer out of her chest of drawers, and I shouldn’t know one if I saw it. What do I look for?”
“It’s an underbodice—long sleeves and high neck—at least they’re generally that way. What does she want it for?”
Meade’s eyes danced.
“To wear under her uniform now that the evenings are getting chilly.”
Mrs. Underwood dropped
