"Sure you have got the right one now?" said Norton.
"I got the newest."
"That's the right one," said Norton, as if the question was settled.
But it was not settled, in Matilda's mind; and all the way home she was trying the boots over again. Had she done right? It was on her lips to say she wished there were no such thing as fashion, but conscience checked her; she felt it was very delightful to be in the fashion. Was that wrong? How could it be wrong? But she had paid for being in the fashion. Had she paid too much? And was she any the better for having round toes to her boots, that she should be so delighted about it? She wanted to be as well dressed as Judy. She wanted that Judy should not be able to laugh at her for a country girl. She could not help feeling that, she thought; but then, she had paid for it. Was this going to be the way always?
Matilda was in such a confusion of thoughts that she did not know what she was passing in the street. Only, she did know when there were little street-sweepers at the crossings, and she tried to slip by without seeming to see them, and to put Norton between them and herself. Not a penny had she for one of them. And she would not have, until the month came round again. Fashion certainly cost. But she had the narrow-toed boots; she was glad of that.
"What ails you?" said Norton at last. "Are you cold?"
"No, Norton. Nothing ails me. I am thinking."
"About what? You think a great deal too much. Pink, we will go to the Park this afternoon; that will give you something to think about."
"Norton, we cannot this afternoon, you know. I have got to go to the dressmaker's."
"O so you have! What a nuisance. Well, to-morrow, then. And I say, Pink! there is another thing you have to think of—Christmas presents."