He had treated her very coolly, and they had seemed to be growing farther and farther apart ever since that spirited interview regarding Richard Forrester’s bequest to Earle Wayne.
Edith was deeply hurt that he should consider her so selfish and willful, and finally said she would go to Newport if he wished.
“I do wish it; and, Editha, I want you to leave all that somber black trumpery at home, and put on something gay and pretty,” he added, with a disappointing glance at her mourning robes.
“Papa! surely you do not mean me to take off my mourning!” she exclaimed, in blank astonishment.
“Yes, I do; there can be no possible good in wearing such gloomy-looking things; they are perfectly hateful.”
“But mamma has only been gone about nine months, and Uncle Richard not quite three, and——”
A quick rush of tears into the sad blue eyes and a great choking lump in her throat suddenly stopped her.
“Your mother would not wish to see you in such dismal garments; she could never endure black anyway; and your Uncle Richard would much prefer to see you looking bright and cheerful,” replied Mr. Dalton.
Editha knew this was true, but it seemed almost like treason to her beloved ones to lay aside all evidence of her sorrow and go back to the gay habiliments of the world. But she submitted to this edict of Dalton also for the sake of peace; and though she could not bring her mind to assume gay colors, yet she bought charming suits of finest white cambric and lawn, and muslins delicately sprigged with lavender, with richer and more elegant damasse, silk and lace, all white, for evening wear.
It was an exceedingly simple wardrobe, yet rich and charming withal, and even her fastidious father could find no fault when he saw her arrayed in it.