“Oh, mother!” There was something almost despairing in Flora’s tone.
“It’s the best we can do. I mean to do my duty—and I’m not willing to look ridiculous.”
Again Miss Baron perceived breakers ahead. If the child conceived the idea that she was being commanded to go anywhere she would very probably develop new methods of resistance. If she were politely invited to accompany other members of the household to church, she might decide to be altogether gracious.
She entertained a lingering regret that the guest could not be persuaded to wear the new dress—in which, certainly, she would be conspicuous enough, but not quite in a flaunting fashion. She even thought of Victor, and wondered if he might not be able to prevail upon the child to accede to the wishes of her elders. But upon second thought she decided not to involve her brother in a phase of the problem which did not touch him. She suspected there would be other phases, more in his line, in due time.
In the meanwhile, the object of all this solicitous thought was leisurely preparing to make her appearance.
That she had no fresh raiment to put on was not particularly disquieting. The fact that it was a Sunday morning made no difference to her at all. Certainly she needed fresh linen, but this, she philosophically concluded, would be provided within another day or two. Her shoes were quite new and neat, and she was by no means ashamed of the dress which now constituted her complete wardrobe.
On a chair by her bed she made discoveries. There was a fresh towel; a little package which obviously contained a tooth-brush; a box of tooth-powder, and—crowning gift—a new hair-ribbon of adorable width and hue.
She tucked these things under one arm, and with her free hand she carefully gathered Flora’s long nightgown away from her feet. Then she started to the bathroom.
In the hall she paused to be sure that the way was clear.