“Phyl will have gone to sleep without you,” Mrs. Conway said at last—“I think you must go now, sweetheart; I will come too, myself, when I have put these papers away.”
But Dolly petitioned to stay till that was done, and watched with unweary eyes till the litter had all gone.
Then “Mama,” she said suddenly, and it was not relevant to anything that had been said that evening, or indeed for days, but only to a want that had pressed sorely at her heart for two months, “shall we have new dresses to go to Australia in?”
Mrs. Conway smiled.
“I think it is highly probable they will be necessary,” she said; “I saw Phyl’s elbow nearly through her house-frock this morning.”
“Oh, mama!”—and the child rushed and buried her face on her mother’s arm again—“Oh, mama, need I take my grey one?”
The mother was much surprised. “That pretty little frock,” she said; “it is the nicest you have, dear, and not half worn out, is it?”
“N—no,” said Dolly, but a painful red was in her cheeks.
“Oh, please, please, mama, don’t let me take it,—oh, couldn’t you give it away now? I’ve had it for long enough, and long enough—oh, please, mama.”
[110]
]“But what is the matter with it that you dislike it so?” said Mrs. Conway, puzzled.