She made no other
response, but that night before she went to sleep she saw distinctly a
vision of herself. Prissie was as little vain as a girl could be, but
the vision of her own figure in Aunt Raby's black satin quilted jacket
was not a particularly inspiriting one. The jacket, full in the
skirts, long in the shoulders, wide in the sleeves and enormous round
the neck, would scarcely bear comparison with the neat, tight-fitting
garments which the other girl graduates of St. Benet's were wont to
patronize. Prissie felt glad she was not attired in it that
unfortunate day when she sat in Mrs. Elliot-Smith's drawing-room; and
yet-- and yet-- she knew that the poor, quaint, old-world jacket meant
love and self-renunciation.
"Dear Aunt Raby!" whispered the girl.
Tears lay heavily on her eyelashes as she dropped asleep, with one arm
thrown protectingly round her little sister Katie.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE FASHION OF THE DAY
A THICK mist lay over everything. Christmas had come and gone, and
Priscilla's trunk was packed once more-- Aunt Raby's old-world jacket
between folds of tissue-paper, lying on the top of other homely
garments.
The little sisters were in bed and asleep and Aunt Raby lay on the
sofa. Prissie was accustomed to her face now, so she did not turn it
away from the light.
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