New Dresses

  Mrs. Carsfield and her mother sat at the dining-room
table putting the finishing touches to some
green cashmere dresses. They were to be worn by the two
Misses Carsfield at church on the following day, with apple-green
sashes, and straw hats with ribbon tails. Mrs. Carsfield
had set her heart on it, and this being a late night for Henry
who was attending a meeting of the Political League, she and
the old mother had the dining-room to themselves and could
make a "peaceful litter" as she expressed it. The red cloth was
taken off the table -- where stood the wedding-present sewing-machine,
a brown work-basket, the "material," and some torn
fashion journals. Mrs. Carsfield worked the machine, slowly
for she feared the green thread would give out, and had a sort
of tired hope that it might last longer if she was careful to use
a little at a time; the old woman sat in a rocking-chair, her skirt
turned back, and her felt-slippered feet on a hassock, tying the
machine threads and stitching some narrow lace on the necks
and cuffs. The gas jet flickered. Now and again the old woman
glanced up at the jet and said, "There's water in the pipe, Anne,
that's what's the matter," then was silent, to say again a moment
later, "There must be water in that pipe, Anne," and again,
with quite a burst of energy, "N_o_w_ there is -- I'm c_e_r_t_a_i_n_ of it."
  Anne frowned at the sewing-machine. "The way mother
h_a_r_p_s_ on things -- it gets frightfully on my nerves," she thought.
"And always when there's no earthly opportunity to better a
thing....I suppose it's old age -- but most aggravating." Aloud
she said: "Mother, I'm having a really substantial hem in this
dress of Rose's -- the child has got really leggy lately. And don't
put any lace on Helen's cuff; it will make a distinction, and


besides she's so careless about rubbing her hands on anything
grubby."
  "Oh, there's plenty," said the old woman. "I'll put it a
little higher up." And she wondered why Anne had such a
down on Helen -- Henry was just the same. They seemed to
want to hurt Helen's feelings -- the distinction was merely an
excuse.
  "Well," said Mrs. Carsfield, "you didn't see Helen's clothes
when I took them off to-night. Black from head to foot after
a week. And when I compared them before her eyes with
Rose's she merely shrugged, you know that habit she's got,
and began stuttering. I really shall have to see Dr. Malcolm
about her stuttering, if only to give her a good fright. I believe
it's merely an affectation she's picked up at school -- that she
can help it."
  "Anne, you know she's always stuttered. You did just the
same when you were her age, she's highly strung." The old
woman took off her spectacles, breathed on them, and rubbed
them with a corner of her sewing-apron.
  "Well, the last thing in the world to do her any good is to
let her imagine t_h_a_t_," answered Anne, shaking out one of the
green frocks and pricking at the pleats with her needle. "She
is treated exactly like Rose, and the Boy hasn't a nerve. Did
you see him when I put him on the rocking-horse to-day, for
the first time? He simply gurgled with joy. He's more the
image of his father every day."
  "Yes, he certainly is a thorough Carsfield," assented the old
woman, nodding her head.
  "Now that's another thing about Helen," said Anne. "The
peculiar way she treats Boy, staring at him and frightening him
as she does. You remember when he was a baby how she used
to take away his bottle to see what he would do? Rose is
perfect with the child -- but Helen..."
  The old woman put down her work on the table. A little
silence fell, and through the silence the loud ticking of the


dining-room clock. She wanted to speak her mind to Anne
once and for all about the way she and Henry were treating
Helen, ruining the child, but the ticking noise distracted her.
She could not think of the words and sat there stupidly, her
brain going t_i_c_k_, t_i_c_k_ to the dining-room clock.
  "How loudly that clock ticks," was all she said.
  "Oh, there's mother -- off the subject again -- giving me no
help or encouragement," thought Anne. She glanced at the
clock.
  "Mother, if you're finished that frock, would you go into
the kitchen and heat up some coffee and perhaps cut a plate of
ham. Henry will be in directly. I'm practically through with
this second frock by myself." She held it up for inspection.
"Aren't they charming? They ought to last the children a
good two years, and then I expect they'll do for school --
lengthened, and perhaps dyed."
  "I'm glad we decided on the more expensive material," said
the old woman.
  Left alone in the dining-room Anne's frown deepened and
her mouth drooped -- a sharp line showed from nose to chin.
She breathed deeply and pushed back her hair. There seemed
to be no air in the room, she felt stuffed up, and it seemed so
useless to be tiring herself out with fine sewing for Helen. One
never got through with children and never had any gratitude
from them -- except Rose -- who was exceptional. Another
sign of old age in mother was her absurd point of view about
Helen and her "touchiness" on the subject. There was one
thing, Mrs. Carsfield said to herself. She was determined to
keep Helen apart form Boy. He had all his father's sensitiveness
to unsympathetic influences. A blessing that the girls were at
school all day!
  At last the dresses were finished and folded over the back of
the chair. She carried the sewing-machine over to the book-shelves,
spread the tablecloth, and went over to the window.
The blind was up, she could see the garden plainly: there


must be a moon about. And then she caught sight of something
shining on the garden seat. A book, yes, it must be a book,
left there to get soaked through by the dew. She went out into
the hall, put on her goloshes, gathered up her skirt, and ran
into the garden. Yes, it was a book. She picked it up carefully.
Damp already -- and the cover bulging. She shrugged her
shoulders in the way her little daughter had caught from
her. In the shadowy garden that smelled of grass and rose
leaves Anne's heart hardened. Then the gate clicked and she
saw Henry striding up the front path.
  "Henry!" she called.
  "Hullo," he cried, "what on earth are you doing down
there...Moon-gazing,Anne?" She ran forward and kissed
him.
  "Oh, look at this book," she said. "Helen's been leaving it
about again. My dear, how you smell of cigars!"
  Said Henry: "You've got to smoke a decent cigar when
you're with these other chaps. Looks so bad if you don't.
But come inside, Anne; you haven't got anything on. Let
the book go to hang! You're cold, my dear, you're shivering."
He put his arm round her shoulder. "See the moon over there,
by the chimney? Fine night. By Jove! I had the fellows
roaring to-night -- I made a colossal joke. One of them said:
'Life is a game of cards," and I, without thinking, just straight
out..." Henry paused by the door and held up a finger. "I
said...well, I've forgotten the exact words, but they shouted,
my dear, simply shouted. No, I'll remember what I said in
bed to-night; you know I always do."
  "I'll take this book into the kitchen to dry on the stove-rack,"
said Anne, and she thought, as she banged the pages,
"Henry has been drinking beer again, that means indigestion
to-morrow. No use mentioning Helen to-night."
  When Henry had finished the supper he lay back in the chair,
picking his teeth, and patted his knee for Anne to come and
sit there.


"Hullo," he said, jumping her up and down, "what's the
green fandagles on the chair back? What have you and
mother been up to, eh?"
  Said Anne, airily, casting a most careless glance at the green
dresses, "Only some frocks for the children. Remnants for
Sunday."
  The old woman put the plate and cup and saucer together,
then lighted a candle.
  "I think I'll go to bed," she said cheerfully.
  "Oh, dear me, how unwise of mother," thought Anne.
"She makes Henry suspect by going away like that, as she
always does if there's any unpleasantness brewing."
  "No, don't go to bed yet, mother," cried Henry jovially.
"Let's have a look at the things." She passed him over the
dresses, faintly smiling. Henry rubbed them through his
fingers.
  "So these are the remnants, are they, Anne? Don't feel
much like the Sunday trousers my mother used to make me
out of an ironing blanket. How much did you pay for this a
yard, Anne?"
  Anne took the dresses from him and played with a button
of his waistcoat.
  "Forget the exact price, darling. Mother and I rather
skimped them, even though they were so cheap. What can
great big men bother about clothes...? Was Lumley there
to-night?"
  "Yes, he says their kid was a bit bandy-legged at just the
same age as Boy. He told me of a new kind of chair for children
that the draper has just got in -- makes them sit with their legs
straight. By the way, have you got this month's draper's bill?"
  She had been waiting for that -- had known it was coming.
She slipped off his knee and yawned.
  "Oh, dear me," she said, "I think I'll follow mother. Bed's
the place for me." She stared at Henry vacantly. "Bill -- bill
did you say, dear? Oh, I'll look it out in the morning."



  "No, Anne, hold on." Henry got up and went over to the
cupboard where the bill file was kept. "To-morrow's no good
 -- because it's Sunday. I want to get that account off my chest
before I turn in. Sit down there -- in the rocking-chair -- you
needn't stand!"
  She dropped into the chair and began humming, all the while
her thoughts coldly busy and her eyes fixed on her husband's
broad back as he bent over the cupboard door. He dawdled
over the finding the file.
  "He's keeping me in suspense on purpose." she thought.
"We can afford it -- otherwise why should I do it? I know
our income and our expenditure. I'm not a fool. They're a
hell upon earth every month, these bills." And she thought
of her bed upstairs, yearned for it, imagining she had never
felt so tired in her life.
  "Here we are!" said Henry. He slammed the file on to the
table.
  "Draw up your chair...."
  "Clayton: Seven yards green cashmere at five shillings a
yard -- thirty-five shillings." He read the item twice -- then
folded the sheet over and bent towards Anne. He was flushed
and his breath smelt of beer. She knew exactly how he took
things in that mood, and she raised her eyebrows and nodded.
  "Do you mean to tell me," stormed Henry, "that lot over
there cost thirty-five shillings -- that stuff you've been mucking
up for the children. Good God! Anybody would think you'd
married a millionaire. You could buy your mother a trousseau
with that money. You're making yourself a laughing-stock
for the whole town. How do you think I can buy Boy a chair
or anything else -- if you chuck away my earnings like that?
Time and again you impress upon me the impossibility of
keeping Helen decent; then you go decking her out the
next moment in thirty-shillings' worth of green cashmere
..."
  On and on stormed the voice.


  'He'll have calmed down in the morning, when the beer's
worked off," thought Anne, and later, as she toiled up to bed,
"When he sees how they'll last, he'll understand...."
  A brilliant Sunday morning. Henry and Anne, quite reconciled,
sitting in the dining-room waiting for church time to the
tune of Carsfield junior, who steadily thumped the shelf of his
high chair with a gravy spoon given him from the breakfast
table by his father.
  "That beggar's got muscle," said Henry proudly. "I've
timed him by my watch. He's kept that up for five minutes
without stopping."
  "Extraordinary," said Anne, buttoning her gloves. "I think
he's had that spoon almost long enough now, dear, dear, don't you?
I'm so afraid of him putting it into his mouth."
  "Oh, I've got an eye on him." Henry stood over his small
son. "Go it, old man. Tell mother boys like to kick up a row."
  Anne kept silence. At any rate, it would keep his eye off
the children when they came down in those cashmeres. She
was still wondering if she had drummed into their minds often
enough the supreme importance of being careful and of taking
them off immediately after church before dinner, and why Helen
was fidgety when she was pulled about at all, when the door
opened and the old woman ushered them in, complete to the
straw hat with ribbon tails.
  She could not help thrilling, they looked so very superior --
Rose carrying her prayer-book in a white case embroidered
with a pink woollen cross. But she feigned indifference immediately
and the lateness of the hour. Not a word more on the
subject from Henry, even with the thirty-five shillings' worth
walking hand in hand before him all the way to church. Anne
decided that was really generous and noble of him. She looked
up at him, walking with the shoulders thrown back. How fine
he looked in that long black coat with the white silk tie just
showing! And the children looked worthy of him. She


squeezed his hand in church, conveying by that silent pressure
"It was for your sake I made the dresses; of course, you can't
understand that, but r_e_a_l_l_y_, Henry." And she fully believed it.
  On their way home the Carsfield family met Doctor Malcolm
out walking with a black dog carrying his stick in its mouth.
Doctor Malcolm stopped and asked after Boy so intelligently
that Henry invited him to dinner.
  "Come and pick a bone with us and see Boy for yourself,"
he said. And Doctor Malcolm accepted. He walked beside
Henry and shouted over his shoulder, "Helen, keep an eye on
m_y_ boy baby, will you, and see he doesn't swallow that walking-stick.
Because, if he does, a tree will grow right out of his
mouth or it will go to his tail and make it so stiff that a wag will
knock you into kingdom come!"
  "Oh, Doctor Malcolm!" laughed Helen, stooping over the
dog. "Come along, doggie, give it up, there's a good boy!"
  "Helen, your dress!" warned Anne.
  "Yes, indeed," said Doctor Malcolm. "They are looking
top-notchers to-day -- the two young ladies."
  "Well, it really i_s_ Rose's colour," said Anne. "Her complexion
is so much more vivid that Helen's."
  Rose blushed. Doctor Malcolm's eyes twinkled, and he
kept a tight rein on himself from saying she looked like a
tomato in a lettuce salad.
  "That child wants taken down a peg." he decided. "Give
me Helen every time. She'll come to her own yet and lead
them just the dance they need."
  Boy was having his midday sleep when they arrived home,
and Doctor Malcolm begged that Helen might show him round
the garden. Henry, repenting already of his generosity, gladly
assented, and Anne went into the kitchen to interview the
servant girl.
  "Mumma, let me come too and taste the gravy," begged Rose.
  "Huh!" muttered Doctor Malcolm. "Good riddance."
  He established himself on the garden bench -- put up his feet


and took off his hat to give the sun "a chance of growing a
second crop," he told Helen.
  She asked soberly: "Doctor Malcolm, do you really like
my dress."
  "Of course I do, my lady. Don't you?"
  "Oh yes, I'd like to be born and die in it. But it was such a
fuss -- tryings on, you know, and pullings, and 'don'ts.' I
believe mother would kill me if it got hurt. I even knelt on
my petticoat all through church because of dust on the hassock."
  "Bad as that!" asked Doctor Malcolm, rolling his eyes at
Helen.
  "Oh, f_a_r_ worse," said the child, then burst into laughter
and shouted "Hellish!" dancing over the lawn.
  "Take care, they'll hear you, Helen."
  "Oh, booh! It's just dirty old cashmere -- serve them right.
They can't see me if they're not here to see and so it doesn't
matter. It's only with them I feel funny."
  "Haven't you got to remove your finery before dinner?"
  "No, because you're here."
  "Oh my prophetic soul!" groaned Doctor Malcolm.
  Coffee was served in the garden. The servant girl brought
out some cane chairs and a rug for Boy. The children were
told to go away and play.
  "Leave off worrying Doctor Malcolm, Helen," said Henry.
"You mustn't be a plague to people who are not members of
your own family." Helen pouted and dragged over to the
swing for comfort. She swung high, and thought Doctor
Malcolm was a most beautiful man -- and wondered if his dog
had finished the plate of bones in the back yard. Decided to
go and see. Slower she swung, then took a flying leap; her
tight skirt caught on a nail -- there was a sharp, tearing sound --
quickly she glanced at the others -- they had not noticed --
and then at the frock -- at a hole big enough to stick her hand
through. She felt neither frightened nor sorry. "I'll go and
change it," she thought.


  "Helen, where are you going to?" called Anne.
  "Into the house for a book."
  The old woman noticed that the child held her skirt in a
peculiar way. Her petticoat string must have come untied.
But she made no remark. Once in the bedroom Helen unbuttoned
the frock, slipped out of it, and wondered what to do
next. Hide it somewhere -- she glanced all round the room --
there was nowhere safe from them. Except the top of the cupboard --
but even standing on a chair she could not throw so
high -- it fell back on top of her every time -- the horrid, hateful
thing. Then her eyes lighted on her school satchel hanging on
the end of the bedpost. Wrap it in her school pinafore -- put it
in the bottom of the bag with the pencil case on top. They'd
never look there. She returned to the garden in the every-day
dress -- but forgot about the book.
  "A -- ah," said Anne, smiling ironically. "What a new leaf
for Doctor Malcolm's benefit! Look, mother, Helen has
changed without being told to."
  "Come here, dear, and be done up properly." She whispered
to Helen: "Where did you leave your dress?"
  "Left it on the side of the bed. W_h_e_r_e_ I took it off," sang
Helen.
  Doctor Malcolm was talking to Henry of the advantages
derived from public school education for the sons of commercial
men, but he had his eye on the scene and, watching Helen, he
smelt a rat -- smelt a Hamelin tribe of them.
  Confusion and consternation reigned. One of the green
cashmeres had disappeared -- spirited off the face of the earth --
during the time that Helen took it off and the children's tea.
  "Show me the exact spot," scolded Mrs. Carsfield for the
twentieth time. "Helen, tell the truth."
  "Mumma, I s_w_e_a_r_ I left it on the floor."
  "Well, it's no good swearing if it's not there. It can't have
been stolen!"



  "I did see a very funny-looking man in a white cap walking
up and down the road and staring in the windows as I came up
to change." Sharply Anne eyed her daughter.
  "Now," she said, "I k_n_o_w_ you are telling lies."
  She turned to the old woman, in her voice something of
pride and joyous satisfaction "You hear, mother -- this cock-and-bull story?"
  When they were near the end of the bed Helen blushed and
turned away from them. And now and again she wanted to
shout "I tore it, I tore it," and she fancied she had said it and
seen their faces, just as sometimes in bed she dreamed she had
got up and dressed. But as the evening wore on she grew quite
careless -- glad only of one thing -- people had to go to sleep
at night. Viciously she stared at the sun shining through the
window space and making a pattern of the curtain on the bare
nursery floor. And then she looked at Rose, painting a text
at the nursery table a with a whole egg-cup full of water to
herself....
  Henry visited their bedroom the last thing. She heard him
come creaking into their room and hid under the bedclothes.
But Rose betrayed her.
  "Helen's not asleep," piped Rose.
  Henry sat by the bedside pulling his moustache.
  "If it were not Sunday, Helen, I would whip you. As it is,
and I must be at the office early to-morrow, I shall give you a
sound smacking after tea in the evening....Do you hear me?"
  She grunted.
  "You love your father and mother, don't you?"
  No answer.
  Rose gave Helen a dig with her foot.
  "Well," said Henry, sighing deeply, "I suppose you love
Jesus?"
  "Rose has scratched my leg with her toe-nail," answered
Helen.
  Henry strode out of the room and flung himself on to his


own bed with his outdoor boots on the starched bolster, Anne
noticed, but he was too overcome for her to venture a protest.
The old woman was in the bedroom, too, idly combing the hairs
from Anne's brush. Henry told them the story, and was
gratified to observe Anne's tears.
  "It i_s_ Rose's turn for her toe-nails after the bath next Saturday,"
commented the old woman.
  In the middle of the night Henry dug his elbow into Mrs.
Carsfield.
  "I've got an idea." he said. "Malcolm's at the bottom of
this."
  "No...how...why...where...bottom of what?"
  "Those damned green dresses."
  "Wouldn't be surprised," she managed to articulate, thinking
"imagine his rage if I woke h_i_m_ up to tell him an idiotic thing
like that!"
  "Is Mrs. Carsfield at home'?" asked Doctor Malcolm.
  "No, sir, she's out visiting," answered the servant girl.
  "Is Mr. Carsfield anywhere about?"
  "Oh no, sir, he's never home midday."
  "Show me into the drawing-room."
  The servant girl opened the drawing-room door, cocked her
eye at the doctor's bag. She wished he would leave it in the
hall -- even if she could only f_e_e_l_ the outside without opening
it....But the doctor kept it in his hand.
  The old woman sat in the drawing-room, a roll of knitting
on her lap. Her head had fallen back -- her mouth was open --
she was asleep and quietly snoring. She started up at the sound
of the doctor's footsteps and straightened her cap.
  "Oh, Doctor -- you d_i_d_ take me by surprise. I was dreaming
that Henry had bought Anne five little canaries. Please sit
down!"
  "No, thanks. I just popped in on the chance of catching you
alone....You see this bag?"



The old woman nodded.
  "Now, are you any good at opening bags?"
  "Well, my husband was a great traveller and once I spent a
whole night in a railway train."
  "Well, have a go at opening this one."
  The old woman knelt on the floor -- her fingers trembled.
  "There's nothing startling inside?" she asked.
  "Well, it won't bite exactly," said Doctor Malcolm.
  The catch sprang open -- the bag yawned like a toothless
mouth, and she saw, folded in its depth -- green cashmere --
with narrow lace on the neck and sleeves.
  "Fancy that!" said the old woman mildly. "May I take it
out, Doctor?" She professed neither astonishment nor pleasure
 -- and Malcolm felt disappointed.
  "Helen's dress," he said, and bending towards her, raised his
voice. "That young spark's Sunday rig-out."
  "I'm not deaf, Doctor," answered the old woamn. "Yes,
I thought it looked like it. I told Anne only this morning
it was bound to turn up somewhere." She shook the
crumpled frock and looked it over. "Things always do if
you give them time; I've noticed that so often -- it's such a
blessing."
  "You know Lindsay -- the postman? Gastric ulcers -- called
there this morning....Saw this brought in by Lena, who'd
got it from Helen on her way to school. Said the kid fished it
out of her satchel rolled in a pinafore, and said her mother had
told her to give it away because it did not fit her. When I saw
the tear I understood yesterday's 'new leaf', as Mrs. Carsfield
put it. Was up to the dodge in a jiffy. Got the dress -- bought
some stuff at Clayton's and made my siser Bertha sew it while
I had dinner. I knew what would be happening this end of the
line -- and I knew you'd see Helen through for the sake of
getting one in at Henry."
  "How thoughtful of you, Doctor!" said the old woman.
"I'll tell Anne I found it under my dolman."


  "Yes, that's your ticket," said Doctor Malcolm.
  "But, of course, Helen would have forgotten the whipping by
to-morrow morning and I'd promised her a new doll..." The
old woman spoke regretfully.
  Doctor Malcolm snapped his bag together. "It's no good
talking to the old bird," he thought, "she doesn't take in half
I say. Don't seem to have got any forrader than doing Helen
out of a doll."