Word: plumped
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...afternoon, the visitors seethed back and forth across the small Right Bank area where most of the 30 important houses of Paris' haute couture are concentrated. They sat through the collections of Patou and Heim, of Balmain and Fath. But most were waiting for the showing of a plump, pink, innocent-looking son of a fertilizer manufacturer. His name: Christian Dior. This year Dior celebrates his tenth year as a couturier, and every buyer in the trade has learned that it is unwise to buy in quantity before seeing the collection of Christian Dior...
...ready-made and the copyist, private luxuries are now public domain. Because of the curious liaison Dior has wrought between the shrewd operators of Seventh Avenue and the damask-hung salons off the Champs Elyseées, U.S. women may deplore or applaud the plump little man from Normandy, but they cannot ignore him. The woman has not yet been born who, shopping for a new dress, asks for "something just like what I have on"-and men would not like it if she did. Few women have the social assurance to trust their own taste completely. Dior...
Chicago Lawyer Adlai E. Stevenson (Princeton '22) ventured far north in Ivyland, took a seat in Harvard Memorial Church's Appleton Chapel, dandled on his knee plump, 13-week-old Adlai Ewing IV (so christened there), son of Adlai III (Harvard '52). When the presiding minister spurned a christening offering and suggested that the money should go into a bank account for Adlai IV, Grandpa Stevenson quipped: "Here is one infant who can credit his baptism and you with his solvency...
...stood listening to the applause that greeted her in the big auditorium at Southern Methodist University, the plump, kindly lady seemed perilously close to tears. "If I cry," she said, "please forgive me." Then Mrs. Walter William Fondren, 76, accepted the large Steuben vase that ten colleges, hospitals and church organizations had bought for her as a special tribute. "Why I'm chosen," said she, "I'll never know. I've always tried to stay in the background...
Mixed Fiction FOR EVERY FAVOUR, by Ruby Ferguson (320 pp.; Little, Brown; $3.95), is a report on that lost time when the grapes were always plump in the hothouse and no butler ever stole a spoon. Instead of telling the gloom of aristocrats obliged to do without servants, English Novelist Ruby Ferguson, 57, resourcefully chronicles the even gloomier situation of servants who have run out of aristocrats. Her story about the decline, fall and resurrection of Edward Shrewsbury, the perfect butler, is calculated to make envious many a lady novelist who has never thought of using butlers for any purpose...