She lifted her fork to her mouth and went through the motions of chewing and swallowing, only to discover the egg was still on her plate. “Such a crush last night,” Mrs. Bachman said. “Lady Northington-Jones must be thrilled, but I fear the air was not good for my lungs. So much going and coming, the air never settled.” “I found it stifling,” Lily said. “Fresh air is better, anyway, Mama.” Mrs. Bachman pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I disagree. After all, you don’t leave the windows of a sick room flung open, do you? Of course not. Warm, still air is more recuperative.” Lily took a sip of tea and replaced her cup in its saucer. Around the rim, fanciful peacocks in the Oriental style flew against a wide blue band. The service altogether clashed with the breakfast room’s traditional décor, but Mrs. Bachman insisted the set was the crack of fashion. Lily hadn’t the heart to tell her mother that chinoiserie was already passé.
