108 MADGE’S MISTAKE.

as well have one made of buckram. Lucy
ought to be made to wear it herself. Just
fancy this hot weather having one’s arms and
neck scratched as that would scratch them;
and anyone could hear me coming, too, a
mile off with the horrible stiff rustle it
makes. I declare if I were Aunt I wouldn’t
let a scrap of starch go into the laundry at
all this sort of weather.”

“Gently, gently, Miss Madge,” says Nurse,
quite frightened at this sudden outburst.
“Why, you quite take my breath away.
There’s no need for you to wear the dress at
all, dearie. Come along with me and you
can choose for yourself. J thought the
white looked cool and nice.”

“Yes; so it does look cool,” I reply; “but
you should just feel it: it makes me hot now
to think of it.”

Nurse and I dive into the recesses of a
deep drawer, and after a careful search
among more piqués, muslins, and linens, all
equally starched, I finally pounce upon a
white cachmere and drag it out in triumph.