The Missing Angel by Erle Cox — Read

When, acting under his wife's most explicit instructions, Tydvil had dressed early that evening, he found Amy was earlier, and was awaiting his arrival in the drawing-room. As he caught sight of her, Tydvil's eyes opened widely. Never since he had known her had Amy worn anything but some shade of grey. Amy appeared to think it was the chosen colour of the virtuous--something that marked her as one apart from the world, the flesh, and the devil. Now, she was wearing mauve--mauve relieved by violet. Moreover, it was cut at the neck quite two inches lower than anything that Tydvil had even seen on her. But, even so, the strictest critic could not have classed the revelation as daring. Great as was Tydvil's surprise, it would have been greater had he known that a harried dressmaker had kept four girls at work all night so that it would be finished in time for that night's dinner.

Tydvil mentally admitted that he had never seen her look more presentable. The frock had been compiled by an artist. The compliment he paid her was not very well received. Amy said that she was sorry she had bought it. It made her look rather more conspicuous than she cared to be. It was a concession to fashion that she should not have made. Having put Tydvil in his place, she looked him over critically, straightened a tie that did not need straightening, and suggested it was about time he procured another dinner jacket. A man in his position should be well dressed. For her part, her dress was never more than a secondary consideration. "I always say, that if a woman respects herself, others respect her. Dress does not matter." Tydvil reflected that it was quite true that she always said that. He had heard her say it two or three times a week for ten years or more.