At this point Miss Hansford stopped short, remembering how the trunk had looked when brought to her door, and that she had been glad when it was safely housed from the curious eyes of her neighbors. It was battered and rusty, and as for Elithe’s clothes.——Here she took counsel with herself again. She had thought but little of Elithe’s dress, except that it was neat and plain, as a minister’s daughter’s dress ought to be. Now, however, in the light of Clarice’s criticism she awoke to the fact that it was not exactly like that of other girls whom she saw daily in the street. What the difference was she could not have told, she paid so little attention to the fashions. She wore her gowns years; her sleeves were tight to her skin. She didn’t know what the fashions were. But she would know, and Elithe should look like other girls, if she ruined herself in doing it. She had cooled down considerably by the time this decision was reached.
“Don’t cry. It’ll make you sick again,” she said to Elithe, whose tears were falling as she recalled the sarcastic criticism which had cut so deep and seemed worse the more she thought of it.
Her head began to ache, and when that afternoon Paul came in to ask how she was feeling after her bath, he was told that she “wasn’t feeling anyhow and had gone to bed.” This information Miss Hansford gave crispily, and her crispiness continued as Paul expressed his regret and surprise, saying: “She seemed to enjoy it so much, and after the first dip took to the water like a duck. She’ll learn to swim in no time. I hope she’ll be all right to-morrow. I want her to go over to the Tower.”
“She won’t go to the Tower, and she won’t go anywhere very soon, let me tell you,” Miss Hansford said, while Paul wondered what had occurred to throw her so far off her equilibrium.
“I’m sorry. I hope nothing disagreeable happened to her,” he said.
For a minute Miss Hansford was tempted to tell him the truth. Then, changing her mind, she asked if he knew the shops in Boston well. “The stores, I mean, and places where folks go to get things up to date,—where your mother trades, for instance, and people like her.”
“Why, yes,” he replied. “There’s Jordan and Marsh, and White’s.”
“I know them places. Ain’t there others?” Miss Hansford interrupted.
“Certainly. There’s Hollander’s, on Boylston Street,—rather more expensive, I expect.”
“I don’t care for expense. I want things that nobody can make fun of,” Miss Hansford interrupted him again, and he continued: “You’ll get them there, and shoes in the same street, and hats. I believe Clarice bought one there, the prettiest she ever had.”