"It—it's very pretty, isn't it?" she stammered, wetting her dry lips and wondering what good it did to say that.
"Pretty? Of course it is. It's silk, and a fine piece—I thought when I got it how splendidly it would make over. I'm sure any girl ought to be proud to wear it!"
Genevieve caught her breath sharply. "Proud"—Mrs. Gale had said "proud"; and Cordelia had said, that morning, that Mrs. Gale herself was very proud, and that she would be very angry if she knew that Genevieve had offered Elsie a dress to wear. In a flash of inspiration, then, came a wild plan to Genevieve's mind. If only she had the audacity to carry it out!
She wet her lips again, and took desperate hold of her courage. Even as she did so, she almost smiled—she was thinking: was this another case when she was doing something bad to do something good? Never mind; she must go through with it now. She must!
"Yes, it is a very pretty dress, indeed," she stammered; "and it was Fannie's, too, wasn't it?"
Mrs. Gale beamed.
"Yes!—and didn't I get it out finely? You know sleeves are smaller, so that helped, and the breadths were so full last year! I think I never got a dress out better," she finished proudly.
Genevieve touched the folds lightly.
"And this isn't faded at all, is it?" she murmured pleasantly.
"What?" Mrs. Gale's voice was a little sharp.