"Yes, I daresay," interrupted Mollie, impatiently; for she had no wish to discuss the merits of the play beforehand. "But do listen to me, Wave, dear; Mr. Ingram will fetch us in a carriage, and he has promised to go early, so that I may see the curtain draw up. I shall wear my white dress. But what am I to do for a nice wrap?" Mollie's voice was a little troubled, and for the moment Waveney did not answer. She realised at once the difficulty of the situation.
"I shall not draw my salary until Christmas," she said, presently. "That will be a month hence; and we must not ask father for any money."
"No, certainly not."
"Well, then, we must just make the best of it," went on Waveney. "Your black jacket is impossible, and so is your waterproof. So there only remains 'Tid's old red rag of a shawl'"—a title they had borrowed from a charming tale they had read in their childhood.
"Oh, Waveney, dear, mother's old red shawl!" and Mollie's voice was decidedly depressed. "What will Mr. Ingram say?"
"He will say—at least, he will think—that you look sweet. How could he help it, darling? Mother's shawl is warm, and in the gaslight it won't look so very shabby—you can throw it off, directly you get into the box. Father must buy you some new gloves; and, with a few flowers, you will do as well as possible." But though Mollie tried to take this cheerful view of the case, she did not quite succeed, and "Tid's old rag of a shawl" lay heavily upon her mind.
CHAPTER XX.
"DAD'S LITTLE BETTY."
"We have seen better days."
Romeo and Juliet.