"There is too much of it, too much billowy lace everywhere." She did not add that the coral and silver brocade gave Mrs.
Pletheridge a curious resemblance to an overblown prize hollyhock.
Madame's horrified face changed, as if under a spell, to one of abject despair; and a menacing frown convulsed the puffy features of Mrs.
Pletheridge, while she burst out of her gorgeous sheath with a petulant haste which expressed her inward perturbation better than words could have done.

For a minute one could have heard a flower drop in the fitting-room; then the offended customer spoke, and her words, when she found them, were not lacking in either force or effectiveness.

"No, there's no use trying on anything else, I have an appointment at Cambon's." Cambon was Dinard's hated and wholly incompetent rival; and until this illuminating instant Madame had never suspected that her particular Mrs.Pletheridge had ever entered the high white doors of Cambon's establishment.
"But, surely, we have something else.

There is a lovely Doucet model--in white and silver--" But no, Mrs.Pletheridge would have none of the lovely model.

"Give me my skirt at once," she commanded haughtily, bending her opulent bosom and holding the lacy frills of her petticoat together while Agnes, the youngest and the gentlest of the assistants, knelt at her feet with her dress skirt held invitingly open on the floor.