"So be it. Half a minute, though." Dale counting his money, dolefully
discovered that it had run very low indeed. "I begin to think we shall
have to cut down our treat a bit."
But Mavis swept away all difficulties. She had brought money--her very
own money--her little emergency hoard; and opening her handbag, and
tumbling inside it, she produced a five-pound note, and smilingly put
it on the dressing-table.
"Hulloa! There's more where that comes from." His quick ear had caught
the rustling sound inside the handbag. "There's other notes in there,
old lady;" and, laughing, he tried to snatch the bag from her. "How
much? Here's a miser, and no mistake."
"Never you mind how much your miser's got." Her lips were smiling, her
eyes shining, and with a happy laugh she sprang away from him. "Now,
no nonsense. Take me out, and make a fuss of me."
For a moment he stood still, admiring her. She was dressed in her very
best Sunday clothes, and, to his eye at least, she looked quite
entrancingly nice. Her straw hat was full of artificial roses that
any one might have sworn were real; her unbuttoned jacket disclosed
the delicate finery of a muslin blouse; her long skirt, held up so
gracefully by the unoccupied hand, was made of veritable silk.
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