Francie's face grew very grave.
'It's about my things, Jass. What do you think I should wear? I'm so afraid Aunt Alison will be vexed if I put on my best things—and of course black frocks do get spoilt if one runs about much—and yet my every-day frock is so shabby now, and—I don't want the girls to think we're never properly dressed.'
Jacinth considered. They were still in deep mourning, for Miss Mildmay's ideas on such subjects were 'old-fashioned,' and she quite recognised that the late Mrs Denison's memory should be treated with the fullest respect. But Jacinth sympathised with Frances's feelings.
'I was looking at our dark-gray frocks with Phebe the other day,' she said. 'The ones we had new just before—before our mourning. You know they were got for half-mourning because of old Sir George Mildmay's—papa's uncle's—death, and they look quite fresh and nice. I don't think you've grown much, Francie—and oh, by-the-bye, I believe there's a tuck that could be let down.'
'Yes,' said Frances, 'there are little tucks—a lot—above the hem.'
'Then I'll run up and tell Phebe to get them out, yours at least. I'll explain to Aunt Alison; and if I lend you my wide black sash, I'm sure it will look quite mourning enough.'
'Oh Jass,' exclaimed Frances, 'how good of you!'
The honour and glory of Jacinth's best black sash was almost too much for her.
'Really, I should never be cross to Jass. She is so very, very kind and unselfish,' thought the grateful little girl.
The gray frock was looked out and soon got ready. It was lying on a chair in the girls' room when Jacinth, a little before half-past one, at last heard her aunt's step in the hall, and ran forward to meet her, primed with her request.