"All the usual dreary things, to which a mountain of sewing has been added."
"Is that a new gown?"
She laughed, mirthlessly. "It's as new a gown as I'll ever have," she returned, trying to keep her voice even. "My wardrobe consists of an endless parade of brown alpaca and brown gingham garments, all made exactly alike."
Thwarted on All Sides
"Like a dozen stage soldiers, marching in and out, to create the illusion of a procession?"
"I suppose so. You know I've never seen a stage, much less a stage soldier."
Alden's heart softened with pity. He longed to take Rosemary to town and let her feast her eyes upon some gorgeous spectacle; to see her senses run riot, for once, with colour and light and sound.
"I feel sometimes," she was saying, "as though I had sold my soul for pretty things in some previous existence, and was paying the penalty for it now."
"You love pretty things, don't you?"
She turned brimming eyes toward him. "Love them?" she repeated, brokenly. "There aren't words enough to say how much!"