As to the question
of gloves for the Colonel, which suddenly flashed upon
him one evening, it appeared never to have entered the
thoughts of the etiquette man, as Lapham called him.
Other authors on the same subject were equally silent,
and Irene could only remember having heard, in some vague
sort of way, that gentlemen did not wear gloves so much
any more.
Drops of perspiration gathered on Lapham's forehead
in the anxiety of the debate; he groaned, and he swore
a little in the compromise profanity which he used.
"I declare," said Penelope, where she sat purblindly
sewing on a bit of dress for Irene, "the Colonel's
clothes are as much trouble as anybody's. Why don't you
go to Jordan & Marsh's and order one of the imported
dresses for yourself, father?" That gave them all the
relief of a laugh over it, the Colonel joining in piteously.
He had an awful longing to find out from Corey how he
ought to go. He formulated and repeated over to himself
an apparently careless question, such as, "Oh, by
the way, Corey, where do you get your gloves?" This would
naturally lead to some talk on the subject, which would,
if properly managed, clear up the whole trouble. But Lapham
found that he would rather die than ask this question,
or any question that would bring up the dinner again.
Corey did not recur to it, and Lapham avoided the matter
with positive fierceness.
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