“This is a very expensive place—just for your very best dresses,” Mrs Thornton ventured to explain; and the order, “Summer gowns for these young ladies,” having been given, presto! the animated dress-stands disappeared through a doorway, to return a few minutes later to promenade slowly up and down the floor before the dazzled eyes of the beholders, each one attired in a different costume. Blue, green, white, lavender, and yellow—perfect of cut, distracting of make—it was, indeed, a problem to choose between them! And while they hesitated, lo! another disappearance, and another triumphal entrance even more gorgeous than the first.
“If I thought I should look as nice as they do, I’d have four at least, but I shan’t; my waist is twice as big, and I never learnt to glide,” sighed Mollie humbly. “How much is the blue, please? I think that would suit me best.”
The price of that simple—looking frock gave Ruth an electric shock. It was actually more than the whole of her yearly allowance. She looked it over, making a rapid estimate of the cost of material and trimming, and felt convinced she could have bought them all out of a five-pound note. And then it could be made at home. Ah, no, that was just the difficulty! The material was a detail, in the making-up thereof lay all the charm and effect. She came out of her calculations to hear Mollie say calmly—
“And I shall want them both home by the end of a week! Now my sister will choose, and after that we will see some evening gowns.”
Ruth took her courage in both hands, ordered one dress, and took advantage of the first moment of solitude to rebuke Mollie in irritable undertones.
“Do think what you are about! I’m the eldest, and it’s most unsuitable for you to be better dressed. You ought to let me decide, and follow my example.”
“But I promised Uncle Bernard that that was just what I would not do.”
“Even if you did, he never intended you to order a whole trousseau. How will he feel when he sees the bills?”
“I don’t know; I think he will feel nice when he sees my clothes. Oh, Ruth, do enjoy yourself when you have the chance! He gave you carte blanche—why on earth can’t you take it?”
But that was just exactly what Ruth could not do. The fear of the bill—the fear of Uncle Bernard’s displeasure, loomed so largely before her eyes, that she dared not indulge her longing for needless fineries. In every shop the same story was repeated, Mollie giving a lavish order with beams of satisfaction, Ruth reducing hers by half, and feeling sore and aggrieved. Each appealed in turn to Mrs Thornton for support and approval, until that good lady became quite dazed and bewildered, and was thankful to find herself once more in her quiet home.