But I must be coloured now, or go naked. They dress me, like two girls dressing a doll.
''Now, where must we nip it?'' says Mrs Sucksby, studying the gown. ''Hold still, my dear, while Dainty takes her measure. Lord,
look at your waist.—Hold steady! A person don''t want to wriggle while Dainty''s by with a pin in her hand, I can tell you.—That''s better. Too loose, is it? Well, we can''t be particular about the size— ha, ha!—the way we gets ''em.''
They take away my gloves; but bring me new ones. On my feet they put white silk slippers. ''May I not wear shoes?'' I say, and Mrs Sucksby answers: ''Shoes? Dear girl, shoes are for walking in. Where''ve you got to walk to . . .?''
She says it distractedly. She has opened up the great wooden box and brought out my leather bag. Now, as I look on, and while Dainty stitches, she goes with it to the light of the window, makes herself comfortable in the creaking basket chair, and begins to sort through the items inside. I watch as she fingers slippers, playing-cards, combs. It''s my jewels she wants, however. She finds in time the little linen packet, unwraps it and tips the contents into her lap.
''Now, what''s here? A ring. A bangle. A lady''s picture.'' She gazes at this in an assessing way; then all at once her expression changes. I know whose features she is seeing there, upon the face where once I looked for mine. She puts it quickly aside. ''A bracelet of emeralds,'' she says next, ''in fashion at the time of King George; but with handsome stones. We shall find you a nice price for those. A pearl on a chain. A ruby necklace—that''s too heavy, that is, for a girl with your looks. I got you a nice set of beads—glass beads, but with such a shine, you''d swear they was sapphires!—suit you much better. And— Oh! What''s this? Ain''t that a beauty? Look Dainty, look at the stunning great stones in that!''