“Should auld acquaintance be forgot?”
There was discord at Misrule.
Nell, in some mysterious way, had let down a muslin frock of last season till it reached her ankles.
And Meg was doing her best to put her foot down upon it.
In a metaphorical sense, of course. Meg Woolcot at twenty-one was far too lady-like to resort to a personal struggle with her young sister.
But her eyes were distressed.
“You can’t say I don’t look nice,” Nell said. “Why, even Martha said, ‘La, Miss Nell!’ and held her head on one side with a pleased look for two minutes.”
[10]
]“But you’re such a child, Nellie,” objected Meg; “you look like playing at being grown up.”
“Fifteen’s very old, I think,” said Miss Nell, walking up and down just for the simple pleasure of hearing the frou-frou of muslin frills near her shoes.
“Ah well, I do think I look nice with my hair done up, and you can’t have it up with short frocks.”