Mrs Clere spoke a little less crossly, but with a weary air.
“Marbled cloth’s not so much worn as it was,” she said; “but I have a fair piece that may serve your turn. It’s more nor that, though. I couldn’t let it go under five and eightpence.”
“Mother’ll want it better cheap than that,” said Gillian. “I think that’ll not serve her, Mistress Clere. But I want a pair of tawny sleeves, an’t like you, wrought with needlework.”
Sleeves, at this time, were not a part of the dress, but were buttoned in as the wearer chose to have them. Gillian found these to suit her, paid for them, and went away. Mrs Clere turned to Rose.
“Now, then, do be hasteful, Rose Allen; I’m that weary!”
“You seem so in truth, Mistress Clere. I’m feared you’ve been overwrought,” said Rose, in a sympathising tone.
“Overwrought? Ay, body and soul too,” answered Mrs Clere, softening a little in response to Rose’s tone. “Well! folks know their own troubles best, I reckon, and it’s no good harrying other folks with them. What priced serge would you have?”
“About eighteenpence, have you some?”
“One and eightpence; and one and fourpence. The one-and-fourpenny’s right good, you’ll find.”
“Thank you, I’ll take the one-and-fourpenny: it’ll be quite good enough for me. Well, I was going to ask you a favour, Mistress Clere; but seeing you look so o’erwrought, I have no mind to it.”