"I don't know," she said, defiantly. "Three are colors I used to
wear. I have had to wear black of late years, because it was more
economical, but you know how much I used to wear pink. It was real
becoming to me."

Henry continued to regard his wife's face with perfect love and a
perfect cognizance of facts. "You couldn't wear it now," he said.

"I don't know," retorted Sylvia. "I dare say I don't look now as if I
could. I have been working hard all day, and my hair is all out of
crimp. I ain't so sure but if I did up my hair nice, and wasn't all
tuckered out, that I couldn't wear a pink silk dress that's there if
I tone it down with black."

"I don't believe you would feel that you could go to meeting dressed
in pink silk at your time of life," said Henry.

"Lots of women older than I be wear bright colors," retorted Sylvia,
"in places where they are dressy. You don't know anything about
dress, Henry."

"I suppose I don't," replied Henry, indifferently.

"I think that pink silk would be perfectly suitable and real becoming
if I crimped my hair and had a black lace bonnet to wear with it."

"I dare say."

Henry took his place at the supper-table. It was set in the kitchen.