Gertrude
flushed and downcast, confronting Fraulein's reproachful voice upon the
stairs; and one day in the basement she heard Ulrica tearfully refuse
to clean her own boots and saw Fraulein stand before her bowing and
smiling, and with the girls gathered round, herself brush and polish the
slender boots.

She was glad to get away with Minna.

Her blouses came at the beginning of the week. She carried them
upstairs. Her hands took them incredulously from their wrappages. The
"squashed strawberry" lay at the top, soft warm clear madder-rose,
covered with a black arabesque of tiny leaves and tendrils. It was
compactly folded, showing only its turned-down collar, shoulders and
breast. She laid it on her bed side by side with its buff companion and
shook out the underlying skirt.... How sweet of them to send her
the things... she felt tears in her eyes as she stood at her small
looking-glass with the skirt against her body and the blouses held in
turn above it... they both went perfectly with the light skirt.... She
unfolded them and shook them out and held them up at arms' length by the
shoulder seams. Her heart sank. They were not in the least like anything
she had ever worn. They had no shape. They were square and the sleeves
were like bags. She turned them about and remembered the shapeliness of
the stockinette jerseys smocked and small and clinging that she had worn
at school. If these were blouses then she would never be able to wear
blouses.... "They're so flountery!" she said, frowning at them. She
tried on the rose-coloured one. It startled her with its brightness....
"It's no good, it's no good," she said, as her hands fumbled for the
fastenings. There was a hook at the neck; that was all. Frightful... she
fastened it, and the collar set in a soft roll but came down in front to
the base of her neck. The rest of the blouse stuck out all round her...
"it's got no cut... they couldn't have looked at it."... She turned
helplessly about, using her hand-glass, frowning and despairing.
Presently she saw Harriett's quizzical eyes and laughed woefully,
tweaking at the outstanding margin of the material. "It's all very
well," she murmured angrily, "but it's all I've _got_."... She wished
Sarah were there. Sarah would do something, alter it or something. She
heard her encouraging voice saying, "You haven't half got it on yet.
It'll be all right." She unfastened her black skirt, crammed the
flapping margin within its band