"We'll go first and get some things that are already made," Daphne said.
She took Drusilla to one of the exclusive shops on Fifth Avenue. If Daphne had not been known, slight courtesy would have been shown the shabbily dressed old woman, but a few words from Daphne and the salesladies were all smiles and bows, eager to show their best. At first they showed her black dresses; but at Drusilla's little look of distress, quick Daphne saw there was something wrong.
"Don't you like them, Miss Doane?"
"Yes—yes—they're beautiful, Miss Thornton, but—do I have to wear black? I've worn it all my life because it wears well. I'd like—I'd like—"
"Tell me what you would like."
"I'd like a soft gray dress like my room, if I ain't too old. But—but—perhaps it wouldn't be fittin'."
"That's just the thing! Why didn't I think of that! Gray will be just the color for you; and with a touch of blue, and your white hair—Oh, you'll be lovely, Miss Doane."
Again the willing salesladies were given their instructions, and gray dresses and gray suits were placed before her. Drusilla passed over the suits with hardly a look, but fingered lovingly the soft crepes and chiffons.
"I don't like the heavy things," she said. "They look as if they'd turn well, and I don't want nothin' that can be turned. I'd like something that'll wear out."
Daphne laughed.