To have
to undertake the clothing of his rustic love was more than a little
disturbing. He went in. A young woman came forward; she had blue eyes
and a faintly puzzled forehead. Ashurst stared at her in silence.
"Yes, sir?"
"I want a dress for a young lady."
The young woman smiled. Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his request
struck him with sudden force.
The young woman added hastily:
"What style would you like--something modish?"
"No. Simple."
"What figure would the young lady be?"
"I don't know; about two inches shorter than you, I should say."
"Could you give me her waist measurement?"
Megan's waist!
"Oh! anything usual!"
"Quite!"
While she was gone he stood disconsolately eyeing the models in the
window, and suddenly it seemed to him incredible that Megan--his Megan
could ever be dressed save in the rough tweed skirt, coarse blouse, and
tam-o'-shanter cap he was wont to see her in. The young woman had come
back with several dresses in her arms, and Ashurst eyed her laying them
against her own modish figure. There was one whose colour he liked, a
dove-grey, but to imagine Megan clothed in it was beyond him. The young
woman went away, and brought some more.
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