"You're just like me. I hate things that wear forever. Father says that's the cause of the high cost of living—we women don't buy sensible clothes."
Drusilla looked pained.
"Perhaps I shouldn't look at them then—"
Daphne interrupted her.
"You just buy what you want. Don't you worry about what Father thinks. I don't."
"But I—I—don't want to be extravagant."
"You can't be extravagant. You can't spend too much. Now, don't you think about it—and don't you ask how much they cost. You don't need to know. Just you buy the prettiest things they've got."
Finally a choice was made of two pretty soft gray dresses, fragile enough to suit even Daphne's luxurious tastes; arrangements were made in regard to their hurried alterations; and, after buying a wrap to replace the now discarded mantle, they departed, Drusilla as happy as a child, with a flush on her old cheeks and a strange happy light in her blue eyes.
"Now we must have things to go with them."
They went into a lingerie shop, where Drusilla was dazed by the piles of dainty underclothing that were spread before her. She caressed the soft laces and the delicate, cobweb affairs.