Mrs. Biggerstaff suggested lazily that
they all wait until February and then go to Bermuda, and although
they did not go, Nancy never heard anyone say that the holiday was
too expensive. Everybody always had gowns and maids and dinners
enough; there was no particular display. Old Mrs. Underhill indeed
dressed with the quaint simplicity of a Quaker, and even gay
little Mrs. Fielding, who had been divorced, and was a daughter of
the railroad king, Lowell Lang, said that she hated Newport and
Easthampton because the women dressed so much. She dressed more
beautifully than any other women at Marlborough Gardens, but was
quite unostentatious and informal.
Nancy's cheeks burned when she remembered something she had
innocently said to Mrs. Fielding, in the early days of their
acquaintance. The fare to the city was seventy cents, and Nancy
commented with a sort of laughing protest upon the quickness with
which her mileage books were exhausted, between the boys' dentist
appointments, shopping trips, the trips twice a month that helped
to keep Agnes and Dora happy, and the occasional dinner and
theatre party she herself had with Bert.
"Besides that," she smiled ruefully, "There's the cab fare to the
station, that wretched Kilroy charges fifty cents each way, even
for Anne, and double after ten o'clock at night, so that it almost
pays Mr.
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