Letty was full of trembling delight, but Mary was not a little
anxious with herself how Tom would take it.
The first matter, however, was Letty's dress. She had no money,
and seemed afraid to ask for any. The distance between her and
her husband had been widening.
Their council of ways and means lasted a good while, including
many digressions. At last, though unwillingly, Letty accepted
Mary's proposal that a certain dress, her best indeed, though she
did not say so, which she had scarcely worn, and was not likely
to miss, should be made to fit Letty. It was a lovely black silk,
the best her father had been able to choose for her the last time
he was in London. A little pang did shoot through her heart at
the thought of parting with it, but she had too much of that
father in her not to know that the greatest honor that can be
shown any _thing_, is to make it serve a _person_; that
the dearest gift of love, withheld from human necessity, is
handed over to the moth and the rust. But little idea had Letty,
much as she appreciated her kindness, what a sacrifice Mary was
making for her that she might look her own sweet self, and worthy
of her renowned Tom!
When Tom came home that night, however, the look of the world and
all that is in it changed speedily for Letty, and terribly. He
arrived in great good humor--somebody had been praising his
verses, and the joy of the praise overflowed on his wife.
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