The Osbornes

Excerpt: DORA WEST was trimming her hat. It was a straw hat that had cost a shilling or two when it came into her deft hands and the trimming would only prove to have cost a shilling or two when it became attached to the hat and leaving the deft hands was put onto her extremely pretty head. But by that time the hat would certainly have become a very pretty hat. This she was explaining with great volubility to her friend. “You are rich darling May” she said “and in consequence your attitude toward hats is a little opulent and vulgar. I can put the feathers and the flags and the birds’ eggs in exactly the same place as Biondinetti or whoever it is who sells you hats.” “No not exactly” said Mary with the quietness that real conviction brings. She was quite certain about that point and so did not care to shout over it. It is only when people are not certain about what they say that they drown their want of conviction in arguments. Conviction always swims. Dora had several pins in her mouth and so did not reply at once. In itself the pin-reason was excellent and more excellent was the fact that she did not wish to reply knowing the quiet truth of Mary’s conviction especially since she could not settle the exact angle at which a very large white feather should be put. It pierced the hat once inward once outward that was Biondinetti all over but where in heaven’s name ought it to start from? So she only made a little impatient noise with her lips and even that was difficult since there was a danger of causing a pin to be sucked into her mouth. But she made it successfully. She poised the feather a moment focussing its appearance against the hat. The effect produced by the impatient noise was sufficient to ensure her against any immediate reply. Then suddenly the inspiration came and with a pair of tiny scissors she cut a strand or two in the straw and stuck the quill feather through the holes. “There” she said “and you pay Biondinetti two guineas for doing that. I can’t and I wouldn’t if I could. Austell wrote to me last week and said the swans were moulting and I telegraphed—that cost sixpence and a little thought instead of two guineas—to tell him to send me big wing feathers. He’s a dreadful ass; we all know that but he had the sense to see I wanted feathers and to catch a swan and pluck——” “What a disgusting butcher” said May. “I don’t mean butcher I mean vivisectionist.” “And how do you think you get your feathers darling?” asked Dora. “I don’t know; I never ask. The hat comes from the shop.” “Then don’t ask now because I will tell you. Your horrid shop has birds killed and then plucks them. It does; you can’t deny it. Whereas with me the swan was just moulting and Austell assisted Nature which we all do. He caught its head in a landing-net and it tried to peck he says——”