Now it was not worm-like subtlety that suggested that reply. It was
positive inspiration. By those simple words Juliana had done something to
remove the slur she was always casting on a certain character. Tollington
Moon had not managed his nieces' affairs so badly after all if one of
them could afford herself extravagances of that sort. The blouse
therefore might be taken as a sign and symbol of his innermost integrity.
So Mrs. Moon was content with but one more parting shot.

"I don't say you can't afford the money, I say you can't afford the
colour--not at your time of life."

Two tears that had gathered in Miss Quincey's eyes now fell on the silk,
deepening the mauve-pink to a hideous magenta.

"I was deceived in the colour," she said as she turned from her
tormentor.

She toiled upstairs to the back bedroom and took it off. She could never
wear it. It was waste--sheer waste; for no other woman could wear it
either; certainly not Louisa; she had made it useless for Louisa by
paring it down to her own ridiculous dimensions. Louisa was and always
had been a head and shoulders taller than she was; and she had a bust.

So Miss Quincey came down meek and meagre in the old dress that she
served her for so many seasons, and she looked for peace. But that
terrible old lady had not done with her yet, and the worst was still to
come.

No longer having any grievance against the blouse, Mrs. Moon was