Rotha's heart gave a bound, but she shut her lips and was silent. Some instinct within her was stronger than even the impulse to justify her mother. What did it matter, what her aunt thought?
"These are all summer dresses," Mrs. Busby went on. "They are of no use at this season. Where are your warm clothes?"
"I have none," said Rotha, with sad unwillingness. "This is the best I have on."
"That?" exclaimed Mrs. Busby; and there was a pause. "Nothing better than that, my dear?"
"The others are worse. They are all worn out."
A heavy step was heard coming up the stair at this moment. It reached the landing place.
"Mr. Busby—" cried the voice of his wife, a little uplifted, "don't come in here—I am engaged."
"Very well, my dear," came answer in a husky, rough voice, and the step passed on.
"The first thing is a school dress," Mrs. Busby proceeded. "Antoinette, fetch that purple poplin of yours, that you wore last winter, and let us see if that would not do, for a while at least, till something can be made."
Nothing that fits her can fit me, thought Rotha; but with some self- command she kept her thoughts to herself. Antoinette brought the dress in question and held it up, chuckling.