The next day, when her daughter Harriet insisted that the cross barred muslin was not too spoiled to wear to the inspection of curios, she declared that it was simply filthy, and that Annie must wear her blue, and that the little string of turquoise beads was not in the least too dressy for the occasion.
It therefore happened that Annie and her Aunt Harriet set forth at three o'clock in the afternoon, Annie in blue, and her aunt in thin black grenadine with a glitter of jet and a little black bonnet with a straight tuft of green rising from a little wobble of jet, and a black-fringed parasol tilted well over her eyes.

Annie's charming little face was framed in a background of white parasol.

Margaret saw them pass as she sat on her verandah.

She had received more congratulatory letters that day, and the thief envied the one from whom she had taken.

Annie bowed to Margaret, and her Aunt Harriet said something about the heat, in a high shrill voice.
"She is a wonderful woman, to have written that successful novel," said Aunt Harriet, "and I am going to write her a congratulatory note, now you have bought that stationery at Tiffany's.