"Yes," Matilda replied. "I used the last of it patchin' Rosemary's dress under the arms. It beats all how hard she is on her clothes."
A Question of Colour
"I'll have to order more," sighed the old lady. "I suppose the price has gone up again."
Rosemary's breath came and went quickly; her heart fluttered with a sudden wildness. "Grandmother," she pleaded, hesitatingly, "oh, Aunt Matilda—just for this once, couldn't I have grey alpaca instead of brown? I hate brown so!"
Both women stared at her as though she had all at once gone mad. The silence became intense, painful.
"I mean," faltered the girl, "if it's the same price. I wouldn't ask you to pay any more. Perhaps grey might be cheaper now—even cheaper than brown!"
"I was married in brown alpaca," said Grandmother. She used the tone in which royalty may possibly allude to coronation.
"I was wearing brown alpaca," observed Aunt Matilda, "the night the minister came to call."
"Made just like this," they said, together.
"If brown alpaca's good enough for weddin's and ministers, I reckon it'll do for orphans that don't half earn their keep," resumed Grandmother, with her keen eyes fixed upon Rosemary.