But Miss Churchill was inexorable afterward, and would not even consent to Fan’s going up stairs with Lucy. Instead she took charge of her and they inspected the house and the clean, fragrant dairy, and lastly found themselves in Miss Churchill’s room. This was large and airy, looking cool in its summer dress of matting and furniture of cane or delicate chintz covers.
The visit was so different from the formal little calls that we had been in the habit of making with either of our parents. Indeed, Fan always declared that this day’s experience took her right into the Churchills’ lives, and I think it did.
A dress of fine white India muslin lay on Miss Churchill’s bed. At least, the skirt which had three ruffles edged with delicate needlework. The rest had been ripped apart and ironed out.
“Do you think it pretty?” asked Miss Churchill.
“It is lovely. What exquisite muslin! I wonder what makes these old things so much more beautiful than what we have now?”
“They are neater and not so showy.”
“But this would be noticeable anywhere.”
“Yes, yet it has an air of quiet refinement. Twenty or thirty years ago ladies bought dresses to keep, now they are unpardonably old after one or two seasons, therefore it does not pay to make them so elegant. My dear Miss Fanny, I may as well confess to a conspiracy. I brought out a lot of old dresses yesterday—too pretty to give to the absolute poor. I selected this and altered the skirt. It is all done but the band. I did not know precisely what to do with the waist, so I shall have to give you the material. And if you will accept these for yourself and your sister—there is a great quantity in them, and you will find it a nice, serviceable fabric, as it will save washing. Please do not consider me officious.”
“Oh, Miss Churchill!” was all that Fan could say.
“This pine-apple will be good for afternoon wear, and I believe to some extent in useful gifts. The other I wanted you to have because it was so pretty. I have two more, which will last me my life time.”