"I feel so mean, Nancy. Do you think I'm horribly selfish?"
"Selfish! You aren't the least bit selfish, dear. I can understand perfectly how you hate to go among all those rich girls without looking as well-dressed as any of them, when you're a thousand times prettier than the nicest looking one of them. Besides, just this once——" She paused, realizing that it was not a case of "just this once" at all. Pretty, new clothes and pocket money would be the barest necessities when they should be at Miss Leland's. Why didn't her mother see the folly of sending them to a place where they would learn to want things, actually to need things, far beyond the reach of their little bank account, and where Alma, chumming with girls who had everything that feminine fancy could desire, would either be made miserable, or—she tried to rout her own practical thoughts. Why was it that she was so unwilling to trust in rosy chance? Why was it always she who had to bring the wet blanket of harsh common sense to dampen her mother's and sister's debonair trust in a smiling Providence? Was she wrong after all? She considered the lilies of the field, but somehow she could not believe that their example was the wisest one for impecunious human beings to follow. Lilies could live on sun and dew, and they had nothing to do but wave in the wind.
"Oh, look, Nancy—aren't those feather fans exquisite——"
"Alma, don't you dare to peep at another showcase in this store, or I'll tie my handkerchief over your eyes and lead you out blindfolded like a horse out of a fire."
"But do look at those darling little bottles of perfume. They're straight from Paris. I can tell from those adorable boxes with the orange silk tassels. Wouldn't you give anything on earth to have one? When I'm rich I'm going to have dozens of bottles—those slender crystal ones with enamel tops; and they'll stand in a row across the top of a Louis XVI dressing-table." Nancy smiled at Alma's ever-recurring phrase, "When I'm rich." She wondered if her butterfly sister had formed any clear notions of how that beatific state was to be realized.
"Alma Prescott, there's the door, and thank heaven for it. Have the goodness, ma'am, to go directly through it. The street is immediately beyond, and that is the safest place for us two little wanderers at present."
Forty-five dollars for just one evening's fun.
Gold slippers would have been just the thing to wear with her yellow dress; but—well——