Dinner on the small coast-wise steamers is almost a function. It is
the turning-point of the day, and is served English fashion, in
the evening. The passengers "dress" a little for it, eat the meal
leisurely and with relish. People who perhaps have exchanged no
conversation during the day, now relax, and fraternize with their
fellow men and women.
I purposely secured a seat at the dining-table beside Maarda.
Even she had gone through a simple "dressing" for dinner, having
smoothed her satiny black hair, knotted a brilliant silk
handkerchief about her throat, and laid aside her large, heavy
plaid shawl, revealing a fine delaine gown of green, bordered with
two flat rows of black silk velvet ribbon. That silk velvet ribbon,
and the fashion in which it was applied, would have bespoken her
nationality, even had her dark copper-colored face failed to do so.
The average Indian woman adores silk and velvet, and will have none
of cotton, and these decorations must be in symmetrical rows, not
designs. She holds that the fabric is in itself excellent enough.
Why twist it and cut it into figures that would only make it less
lovely?
We chatted a little during dinner. Maarda told me that she and her
husband lived at the Squamish River, some thirty-five miles north
of Vancouver City, but when I asked if they had any children, she
did not reply, but almost instantly called my attention to a
passing vessel seen through the porthole.
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