You know
you haven't a great many clothes, so _please_, I beg of you, for the
reputation of the family, take care of them, or you will not have a
decent thing to wear two weeks after you get to the Ervengs'."
I was provoked at her for saying this, but I could not resent it very
much, for--though I love pretty things as well as anybody does--somehow
accidents _are_ always happening to my clothes. Nurse says it's because
I am too heedless to think about what I have on, and perhaps it is: yet,
when I remember, and try to be careful, I'm simply _miserable_; and it
does seem too silly to make one's self uncomfortable for clothes,--so I
generally forget.
But this morning I looked carefully over the ginghams that Dillon had
unpacked and hung in the closet in my room, and finally, taking down the
one I considered the prettiest, I put it on; I wished afterward that I
had chosen the plainest and ugliest.
As I said, I was taking as much time as possible over my dressing, when
I happened to think that breakfast might be ready, and the Ervengs
waiting for me,--papa says "to be late at meals, particularly when
visiting, is _extremely_ ill-bred;" then I rushed through the rest
of my toilet, and raced down the stairs, not thinking of Mrs.
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