"Not at all the material for a lady," was her comment. "That skirt is meant for a hard-working artisan's wife. It is so harsh it makes me shudder as I touch it. A lady's dress should always be soft, and not heavy." "Father thought a great deal of the weight," I could not help saying. "He thought it would keep me so warm." "Bless him!" said Miss Donnithorne again. "But after all," she continued, "the skirt is nothing to the blouse. My dear, I will be frank with you; there are some men who know nothing whatever about dress, and that blouse is--atrocious. We'll get them both off, Rachel, or Dumps, or whatever you call yourself." "But," I said, "I have nothing else much to wear. I only brought this and my little, shabby everyday dress." "Now, I wonder," said Miss Donnithorne; but she did not utter her thought aloud. She became very reflective. "I should not be surprised," she said under her breath. "Well, anyhow, we'll go out in the shabby little things, for I couldn't have you look a figure of fun walking through Chelmsford with me. That would be quite impossible." "All right, Miss Donnithorne," I said, inclined to be offended, although in my heart of hearts I had no love for the brown skirt and the red blouse. "That costume will do admirably for that Hannah of yours," said Miss Donnithorne after another pause. "From what you tell me of that body, I should think it would suit her; but it's not the thing for you." "Only father--" I expostulated. "I'll manage your father. Now go to your room, child, and get into your other things as fast as possible."