Part 46 (1/2)
”Mamma! how pretty that is!” exclaimed her daughter; ”and that ashes of roses is lovely!”
”Fine,” said Mrs. Busby; ”very fine. No sparing of money. Well made. Your mother cannot have felt herself in straits when she made such purchases as these, Rotha.”
Rotha's heart gave a bound, but she shut her lips and was silent. Some instinct within her was stronger than even the impulse to justify her mother. What did it matter, what her aunt thought?
”These are all summer dresses,” Mrs. Busby went on. ”They are of no use at this season. Where are your warm clothes?”
”I have none,” said Rotha, with sad unwillingness. ”This is the best I have on.”
”That?” exclaimed Mrs. Busby; and there was a pause. ”Nothing better than that, my dear?”
”The others are worse. They are all worn out.”
A heavy step was heard coming up the stair at this moment. It reached the landing place.
”Mr. Busby--” cried the voice of his wife, a little uplifted, ”don't come in here--I am engaged.”
”Very well, my dear,” came answer in a husky, rough voice, and the step pa.s.sed on.
”The first thing is a school dress,” Mrs. Busby proceeded. ”Antoinette, fetch that purple poplin of yours, that you wore last winter, and let us see if that would not do, for a while at least, till something can be made.”
Nothing that fits her can fit me, thought Rotha; but with some self- command she kept her thoughts to herself. Antoinette brought the dress in question and held it up, chuckling.
”It's about six inches too short, I should say, and wouldn't meet round the waist by three at least.”
”Try it on, Rotha.”
Very unwillingly Rotha did as she was told. Mrs. Busby pulled and twitched and stroked the dress here and there.
”It is a little too short. Could be let out.”
”Then the marks of the gathers would shew, mamma.”
”That could be hidden by a basque.”
”There isn't much stuff left to make a basque. Miss Hubbell cut it all up for the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.”
”It could be made to do for a few days. I am anxious that Rotha should lose no time in beginning school. See, it is November now.”
All this was extremely distasteful to the subject of it. She knew right well that her cousin's dress could never be made to look as if it belonged to her, unless it were wholly taken to pieces and put together again; neither was the stuff of the dress very clean, and the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs had the forlorn, jaded look of a thing which has been worn to death. The notion of appearing in it revolted her unbearably.
”Aunt Serena,” she said, ”I would just as lief wear my old dress, if you don't mind. It would do as well as this, and be no trouble.”
”Well--” said Mrs. Busby; ”it would take some time, certainly, to fit Antoinette's to you; perhaps that is the best way; and it is only for a day or two; it wouldn't matter much. Well, then you may take these things away, Rotha, and put them by.”
”Where?” said Rotha. ”In my trunk?”
”Yes, for the present That will do.”
Rotha carried her muslins up stairs again, and had some ado not to sit down and cry. But she would not, and fought the weakness successfully down, appearing before her aunt again in a few minutes with an imperturbable exterior. Which she was able to maintain about ten minutes.