She was very clever with her fingers, and often did excellent things with a bit of chiffon and a wing, or a few yards of linen or muslin and a remnant of lace picked up at a sale.  She and Jane spent quite a happy afternoon in careful united contemplation of the resources of her limited wardrobe.  They found that the brown skirt could be altered, and, with the addition of new revers and collar and a jabot of string-coloured lace at the neck, would look quite fresh.  A black net evening dress, which a patron had good-naturedly given her the year before, could be remodelled and touched up delightfully.  Her fresh face and her square white shoulders were particularly adorned by black.  There was a white dress which could be sent to the cleaner’s, and an old pink one whose superfluous breadths could be combined with lace and achieve wonders.

“Indeed, I think I shall be very well off for dinner-dresses,” said Emily.  “Nobody expects me to change often.  Every one knows—­if they notice at all.”  She did not know she was humble-minded and of an angelic contentedness of spirit.  In fact, she did not find herself interested in contemplation of her own qualities, but in contemplation and admiration of those of other people.  It was necessary to provide Emily Fox-Seton with food and lodging and such a wardrobe as would be just sufficient credit to her more fortunate acquaintances.  She worked hard to attain this modest end and was quite satisfied.  She found at the shops where the summer sales were being held a couple of cotton frocks to which her height and her small, long waist gave an air of actual elegance.  A sailor hat, with a smart ribbon and well-set quill, a few new trifles for her neck, a bow, a silk handkerchief daringly knotted, and some fresh gloves, made her feel that she was sufficiently equipped.

During her last expedition to the sales she came upon a nice white duck coat and skirt which she contrived to buy as a present for Jane.  It was necessary to count over the contents of her purse very carefully and to give up the purchase of a slim umbrella she wanted, but she did it cheerfully.  If she had been a rich woman she would have given presents to every one she knew, and it was actually a luxury to her to be able to do something for the Cupps, who, she always felt, were continually giving her more than she paid for.  The care they took of her small room, the fresh hot tea they managed to have ready when she came in, the penny bunch of daffodils they sometimes put on her table, were kindnesses, and she was grateful for them.  “I am very much obliged to you, Jane,” she said to the girl, when she got into the four-wheeled cab on the eventful day of her journey to Mallowe.  “I don’t know what I should have done without you, I’m sure.  I feel so smart in my dress now that you have altered it.  If Lady Maria’s maid ever thinks of leaving her, I am sure I could recommend you for her place.”

Chapter Two