She stops with a frown, her path blocked by a tall woman in a mink jacket over the pleats of a MacTavish kilt. She may be rudely standing in Maureen’s way but she is smiling and looking approvingly at young Melvyn.
“A well dressed and properly poised obedient boy,” she echoes. “Perhaps what you mean is: a ‘dainty-boy’. The dream of my life. How nicely you have him outfitted, ma’am. His blouse showing at his neck, an inch of petticoat beneath his kilt, and a sweet pink beret.” She reaches up to cup the curve of Melvyn’s beret in her gloved fingers making him duck an inch before he gathers his wits and obediently lets this stranger admire him to her heart’s content. “I sense the input of Kilt Korner. Very nice.”