States with her two boys, one of whom had been ill, not seriously, at his school in California. But Don Ramón’s aunt would be hostess.
The house was out at Tlalpam. It was May, the weather was hot, the rains were not yet started. The shower at the bull-fight had been a sort of accident.
“I wonder,” said Owen, “whether I ought to put on a dinner-coat. Really, I feel humiliated to the earth every time I put on evening dress.”
“Then don’t do it!” said Kate, who was impatient of Owen’s kicking at these very little social pricks, and swallowing the whole porcupine.
She herself came down in a simple gown with a black velvet top and a loose skirt of delicate brocaded chiffon, of a glimmering green and yellow and black. She also wore a long string of jade and crystal.
It was a gift she had, of looking like an