“Making a wedding-dress.”
“Are you going to marry, then?”
“Oh, no; I’m not making it for myself. I don’t know that it is a wedding-dress either. However, I am making it very beautifully, and so I am ambitious for it.”
“Who is going to wear it?”
Here Mariana’s brow puckered, and a puzzled, tired look came on to her face.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I expect if I finish it, and no one applies for it or wants it, it will shrivel up again. For there is no wardrobe but what is overrun with moths; and the moths here eat away all colours except red and black.”
“Then how can you preserve it till it’s done?”
“By steeping the silk I sew it with in tears. But when the last stitch is in the effect has gone. The moths cannot perceive the bitterness afterwards. They eat it all away.”
Rosalie stared at her, as well she might.
“Won’t you let me see it?” she asked at length; but Mariana shook her head.