Obviously Miss Perry also comprehended why Alice thought it important to know what Mildred meant to wear.

Adams understood why Alice should be concerned with what she herself wore "to look neat and tidy and at her best, why, of course she'd want to," he thought--but he realized that it was forever beyond him to understand why the clothing of other people had long since become an absorbing part of her life.
Her excursion this morning was no novelty; she was continually going to see what Mildred meant to wear, or what some other girl meant to wear; and when Alice came home from wherever other girls or women had been gathered, she always hurried to her mother with earnest descriptions of the clothing she had seen.

At such times, if Adams was present, he might recognize "organdie," or "taffeta," or "chiffon," as words defining certain textiles, but the rest was too technical for him, and he was like a dismal boy at a sermon, just waiting for it to get itself finished.

Not the least of the mystery was his wife's interest: she was almost indifferent about her own clothes, and when she consulted Alice about them spoke hurriedly and with an air of apology; but when Alice described other people's clothes, Mrs.Adams listened as eagerly as the daughter talked.
"There they go!" he muttered to-day, a moment after he heard the front door closing, a sound recognizable throughout most of the thinly built house.

Alice had just returned, and Mrs.Adams called to her from the upper hallway, not far from Adams's door.
"What did she SAY ?" "She was sort of snippy about it," Alice returned, ascending the stairs.
"She gets that way sometimes, and pretended she hadn't made up her mind, but I'm pretty sure it'll be the maize Georgette with Malines flounces." "Didn't you say she wore that at the Pattersons' ?" Mrs.Adams inquired, as Alice arrived at the top of the stairs.