"Ah, that's the question!" said Molly, in some despair.
"Can't you go to Miss Rose's? Doesn't she keep ready-made frocks for
girls of your age?"
"Miss Rose! I never had anything from her in my life," replied Molly,
in some surprise; for Miss Rose was the great dressmaker and milliner
of the little town, and hitherto Betty had made the girl's frocks.
"Well, but it seems people consider you as a young woman now, and
so I suppose you must run up milliners' bills like the rest of your
kind. Not that you're to get anything anywhere that you can't pay for
down in ready money. Here's a ten-pound note; go to Miss Rose's, or
Miss anybody's, and get what you want at once. The Hamley carriage
is to come for you at two, and anything that isn't quite ready, can
easily be sent by their cart on Saturday, when some of their people
always come to market. Nay, don't thank me! I don't want to have the
money spent, and I don't want you to go and leave me: I shall miss
you, I know; it's only hard necessity that drives me to send you
a-visiting, and to throw away ten pounds on your clothes. There, go
away; you're a plague, and I mean to leave off loving you as fast as
I can."
"Papa!" holding up her finger as in warning, "you're getting
mysterious again; and though my honourableness is very strong, I
won't promise that it shall not yield to my curiosity if you go on
hinting at untold secrets."
"Go away and spend your ten pounds. What did I give it you for but to
keep you quiet?"
Miss Rose's ready-made resources and Molly's taste combined, did not
arrive at a very great success. She bought a lilac print, because
it would wash, and would be cool and pleasant for the mornings; and
this Betty could make at home before Saturday. And for high-days and
holidays--by which was understood afternoons and Sundays--Miss Rose
persuaded her to order a gay-coloured flimsy plaid silk, which she
assured her was quite the latest fashion in London, and which Molly
thought would please her father's Scotch blood. But when he saw the
scrap which she had brought home as a pattern, he cried out that the
plaid belonged to no clan in existence, and that Molly ought to have
known this by instinct. It was too late to change it, however, for
Miss Rose had promised to cut the dress out as soon as Molly left her
shop.
Mr. Gibson had hung about the town all the morning instead of going
away on his usual distant rides. He passed his daughter once or twice
in the street, but he did not cross over when he was on the opposite
side--only gave her a look or a nod, and went on his way, scolding
himself for his weakness in feeling so much pain at the thought of
her absence for a fortnight or so.