"I'll make you up them five yards of pink mull for it, Stella. It's a
shame that pretty dress-pattern from your two birthdays ago has never
had the occasion to be made up. It's nice of Cora to be puttin'
herself out."

"Look at 'er, like I was asking her to a funeral!"

"There's such a pretty sash I been savin' to make up with that mull,
Cora. A handsome black-moire length of ribbon off a beaded basque her
father gimme our first Christmas married."

"I'll lend her my pink pearls to wear. Honest, I never knew a girl could
wear pink like Stella."

Miss Schump leaned forward in the lamplight, the myriad of tight little
braids at angles, but her eyes widening to their astounding blueness.

"Not your--pink beads, Cora?"

"You heard me the first time, didn't you? 'Pink' was what I said."

"Ma!"

"Now ain't that nice of Cora?"

"Quick--are you game?"

"Why, yes--Cora."