“Oh, no,” she said hurriedly. “It wasn’t sent, that’s all. Mrs. Ryan won’t have me in the house. That’s the fact and there’s no use trying to get round it. Well, she can do without me. I seem able to support my existence without her.”
Her tone and manner, marked by a sort of hard bravado, did not deceive her sisters, who had that extreme naïveté in expressing their intimate feelings which is peculiar to Californians. They looked at her with commiserating sympathy, not quite comprehending her attitude of independence, but feeling sorry for her, whatever pose she adopted.
“And your dress,” said Hazel, “what will you do with that? When will you ever wear it—a regular ball-dress like that?”
“Oh, I’ll wear it,” said Berny with an air of having quantities of social opportunities not known by her sisters. “It won’t be a loss.”
“You could put a guimpe in and have sleeves to the elbow and wear it to the theater. With a white hat with plumes it would be a dead swell costume. And if you met any of the Ryans they’d see you were holding up your end of the line and not quite ready yet to go to the alms-house.”
Hannah shook her head.
“I don’t see how she could do that—transparent neck and all. I don’t think that’s the kind of dress to wear in a theater. It’s too sort of conspicuous.”
“I think Hannah’s right,” said Josh solemnly, nodding at Berny. “It don’t seem to me the right thing for a lady. Looks fast.”
“What do you know about it, Josh McCrae?” said Hazel pugnaciously. “You’re a clerk in a jewelry store.”
“Maybe I am,” retorted Josh, “but I guess that don’t prevent me from knowing when a thing looks fast. Clerks in jewelry stores ain’t such gummers as you might think. And, anyway, I don’t see that being a clerk in any kind of a store has anything to do with it.”