I was going to a gay house then—a “company” house.
I ran down-stairs early the next morning and told my mother of my invitation, and of my acceptance of it.
She seemed a little surprised, then, after a pause, she said she was pleased.
“Go, and have a good time, Rosamund,” she said; “it is quite right that girls should enjoy themselves; but oh! my love,” an anxious shadow coming across her face, “what have you got to wear?”
“Plenty of things, mother,” I retorted, “lashin’s and lavin’s, as they say in Ireland.”
“But you have no evening dress, Rose. At Mr Gray’s the girls are sure to dress for the evening.”
“Oh, I can manage,” I said.
“But you have not got an evening dress, my darling; all the girls will have evening dresses.”
“One girl must do without,” I retorted in a stout voice which concealed many qualms of the heart.
“One girl must not do without,” replied my mother. “Come with me, Rosamund. Rose, did I ever show you my wedding-dress?”