The evenings following
these shopping expeditions were devoted to "casting up accounts."
Priscilla was absolutely lacking in worldly wisdom, but she had a sense
of accuracy that drove Boswell to the outer edge of veracity. Never
having bought an article of clothing for herself, Priscilla attacked this
new problem with perfectly blank faith. Prices often surprised and
startled her by their smallness, but the results obtained were gloriously
gratifying.
"I can better understand the lure of the States now, Mr. Boswell," she
said one evening as the two sat in the library with the wind howling
down Boswell's exaggerations and the fire illuminating the girl's
face. "Kenmore prices were impossible, but one can go wild here for so
little. Just fancy! That whole beautiful suit for two dollars and
eighty-seven----"
"Eighty-nine!" Boswell severely broke in, shaking his pencil at her as he
sat perched, like a benign gargoyle, by his study table. "I'll not have
Farwell defrauded while he cannot protect his own interests."
"Two eighty-nine," Priscilla agreed, with a laugh so merry and carefree
that the listener dropped his tired eyes.
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