“It’s not very elegant, but it would do, only I have not got it. I sent it to Mrs. O’Flaherty three weeks ago to be laundered, and it hasn’t been sent back yet.”
“Write to her.”
“I have. I’ve sent her a dozen missives. But she does not answer.”
“Go and see her.”
“She lives too far away.”
“Then try one more note; make it pathetic and appealing and stern and threatening all in one. That will surely bring the dress.”
“Very well, I will.”
But as she was about to commence the note, Mary decided, that after all, she had better go herself. She dressed rapidly, and started out alone. Either Dolly or Beth would have gone with her willingly, but she would not ask them. Mrs. O’Flaherty lived at the farther side of Westover. Mary found herself out of breath and impatient when she reached there. She was about to knock when the door opened, and Constance came out, Mary’s dress in her arms.
“I was going to take the liberty of carrying your dress to a woman whom I know. She will do it up beautifully for you, even on this short notice. Mrs. O’Flaherty is ill–too ill to answer your notes or to think about your dress at all.”
“Then I had better go in and see her a moment.”