Mrs. L. No. But, then, braid is cheap; and I can make it look quite pretty with seventy-five cents.
Mr. L. Plague take these women’s fashions. Your endless trimmings and thing-a-ma-jigs cost more than the dress is worth. It is nothing but shell out money when a woman thinks of a new dress.
Mrs. L. I don’t have many new dresses. I do certainly try to be as economical as I can.
Mr. L. It is funny kind of economy, at all events. But if you must have it, I suppose you must.
(Takes out his purse, and counts out carefully seventy-five cents, and puts his purse away, angrily. He starts to go; but when at the door, he thinks he will take his umbrella, and goes back for it. Finds his wife in tears, which she tries hastily to conceal.)
Mr. L. Good gracious! Kate, I should like to know if you are crying at what I said about the dress.
Mrs. L. I was not crying at what you said, but you were so reluctant to grant the small favor! I was thinking how hard I have to work. I am tied to the house. I have many little things to perplex me. Then to think—
Mr. L. Pshaw! What do you want to be foolish for.
(Exit.)
(In the hall he was met by his little girl, Lizzie.)