The day came round on which we were to dine at Damerstown. I had not
meant to tell Nora that we were going there, but she discovered it from
something my grandmother said when she came to my room, and I noticed
that she sat with tightly compressed lips over her sewing that
afternoon.
She had put out my dress for me by my orders. I had chosen the least
becoming garment in my wardrobe, a black grenadine, very simply made,
which belonged to my schoolgirl days. It was high to the neck and had
elbow sleeves, and the cut was old-fashioned. I wished to look my worst
at Damerstown, although I was forced to go there by my grandfather's
will.
It was nearly time for me to dress when my grandmother came into the
little room, where I was sitting watching Nora as she sewed a little
tucker of old lace into the neck of the garment.
"What are you going to wear, Bawn?" she asked.
"This." I indicated the grenadine.
"It will never do, Bawn," my grandmother said, shaking her head. "We are
to do honour to our hosts. I am wearing my moire and my diamonds. If you
were to appear in this your grandfather would send you back to change."
"I should have thought it good enough for the Dawsons," I said, with a
little heat; and then I remembered Nora's presence, and also that my
grandparents were frightened of the Dawsons and anxious to propitiate
them, and I was sorry.
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