Miranda enjoyed making those remarks to the guest. Some keen instinct always told her where best to strike her blows.
When Marcia had reached the top stair she looked down and there was David smiling up to her.
“Marcia,” said he in a tone that seemed half ashamed and half amused, “have you, any—that is—things—that you had before—all your own I mean?[”] With quick intuition Marcia understood and her own sweet shame about her clothes that were not her own came back upon her with double force. She suddenly saw herself again standing before the censure of her sister. She wondered if David had heard. If not, how then did he know? Oh, the shame of it!
She sat down weakly upon the stair.
“Yes,” said she, trying to think. “Some old things, and one frock.”
“Wear it then to-morrow, dear,” said David, in a compelling voice and with the sweet smile that took the hurt out of his most severe words.
Marcia smiled. “It is very plain,” she said, “only chintz, pink and white. I made it myself.”
“Charming!” said David. “Wear it, dear. Marcia, one thing more. Don’t wear any more things that don’t belong to you. Not a Dud. Promise me? Can you get along without it?”
“Why, I guess so,” said Marcia laughing joyfully. “I’ll try to manage. But I haven’t any bonnet. Nothing but a pink sunbonnet.[”]
“All right, wear that,” said David.