“I forgot to tell thee about the insignificant things—we are rich, Babette.”
The tears came into her eyes:
“But—but—I shall shame thee, Horace——”
He kissed her quivering lips to silence her:
“Then God send me shame, Babette,” he said; and he added, with a twinkle in his laughing eyes: “My sisters will judge thee largely by thy clothes, so buy for thyself as thou wouldst buy for my honour and my credit.”
She laughed gaily; then a frown knit the handsome brows.
“What is it, Babette?”
“Only an hour to buy a trousseau!” she sighed. “An hour is such a little while.”
He laughed loud and long; and she laughed at his laughter.
“No, Babette,” said he—“no, no, not thy wedding-dresses. Buy just thy few gowns to fill my trunk. Thou wouldst not rob my sisters of a month’s shopping, thou selfish egoist. They are rich—and must have employment.”