said he, pointing, disfavour in his eye, at the presentment of
a curly-headed infant of five in a Jack-tar outfit of white
flannel topped by an expensive straw hat.

"I see you're not going to trust me," murmured Mrs. Lessing,
as a slim-waisted, trailing-black-gowned saleswoman
approached.

"I'll trust you, but I intend to keep my eye on you," admitted
Burns frankly. He observed with interest the wonderful figure
of the saleswoman. Quite possibly that lady thought he was
admiring her, for nothing in his face could have told her that
he was mapping out in his surgeon's mind her physical anatomy,
and speculating as to where in the name of Hygeia she could
have disposed of her digestive organs in a circumference the
diminutive size of that!

Underwear first. Mrs. Lessing went straight at the
foundations of Bob's make up, and began to look over boxes of
little gossamer shirts and tiny union suits of a fabric so
delicately fine that Burns handled a fold of it suspiciously.

"Silk?" he questioned.

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth curving. "Only a
thread now and then. Mostly lisle - for very hot weather.
These others have some wool in them, for cooler days. Those
nearest you are quite warm, though very light in weight. For
really cold weather - "