'And now, Ally, we must see to your clothes, love! Look, the sun shines! We'll e'en away to Madam Cantrip's this very minute, and see the fashions.'
'But,' cried Alison, aghast, 'I've no money to buy new clothes, Nancy!'
Nancy simply pinched her cheek and laughed, ever so sunnily and gaily.
'The world may call me poor,' she said, 'but I'm not too poor to have the luxury of giving to those I love—once and away. And, child, if you say one word about it—make one objection—I'll pack you off back to The Mains, and never love you more.'
So Alison submitted, and it was not with a bad grace. The discrepancies of her toilette—entirely conceived, cut and furnished forth at The Mains—troubled her greatly. Remember that she was only twenty, and had never had a fine gown in her life.
'A pelisse for the cold streets, dear, and hood to match,' said Nancy, cheerfully, 'and a muslin—yes, I think, a muslin for the evening—the East India muslin is so much in vogue.'
This was as they walked down to the mantle maker's, and that diligent personage, as she eyed the proportions of her new customer, was quite of opinion that a pelisse was the very thing to do them justice.
'The elegant and the fragile for you, Mistress Maclehose,' she astutely remarked, 'the handsome for miss!'
And very handsome indeed that pelisse proved when it came home, being of cloth of a cosy crimson, silk-lined and fur-bordered, with a most coquettish hood, that would just show a curl or two, and was indeed mighty becoming to its wearer. To Alison it seemed a garment fit for a princess; she could not get over its wonders and beauties, and hardly knew herself when she put it on. And, in truth, it worked a wondrous transformation in her air.
'Well, I declare!' Nancy exclaimed, eyeing her over when she tried it on, 'you are quite the fine lady, child, and I feel put away in the shade!'