For a space he rode the whirligig. Then Capes’ footsteps approached. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded. After the twins were past the toddling age, Clotilde finally caught on when the children cleaved to Lucia’s breast when it was time to leave for a fortnight abroad. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. Taking this for encouragement, her suitor proceeded still more extravagantly. . But he was wide awake.
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