An extraordinary quiet took possession of Sophie. When she was going down the road with Potch and Michael, she said:
"Arthur Henty knocked him down," Michael said.
"They want to fight it out ... but they're both drunk. The boys are trying to stop it."
"Oh, Michael!" Sophie cried on a little gasping breath; and looking into her eyes he read her contrition, asking forgiveness, understanding all that he had not been able to explain to her. She did not say, "I'll never sing there, like that, any more." Her feeling was too deep for words; but Michael knew she never would.
"It's what I wore, meself, white muslin, when I went to me first ball," Mrs. George Woods said, standing off to admire the frock of white muslin Sophie had on, and which she had just fastened up for her.
Sophie was admiring her reflection in Mrs. Woods' mirror, a square of glass which gave no more than her head and shoulders in brilliant sketchy outlines. She moved, trying to see more of herself and the new dress. Maggie Grant, who had helped with the making of the dress, was also gazing at her and at it admiringly.
When it was a question of Sophie having a dress for the ball at Warria, Mrs. Grant had spoken to Michael about it.
"Sophie's got to have a decent dress to go to the station, Michael," she said. "I'm not going to have people over there laughing at her, and she's had nothing but her mother's old dresses, cut down--for goodness knows how long."
"Will you get it?" Michael inquired anxiously.
"Bessie Woods and I were thinking it might be pinspot muslin, with a bit of lace on it," she said. "We could get the stuff at Chassy Robb's and make it up between us."
"Right!" Michael replied, looking immensely relieved to have the difficulty disposed of. "Tell Chassy to put it on my book."
So the pinspot muslin and some cheap creamy lace had been bought. Mrs. Woods and Sophie settled on a style they found illustrating an advertisement in a newspaper and which resembled a dress one of the Henty girls had worn at the race ball the year before. Maggie Grant had done all the plain sewing and Mrs. Woods the fixing and finishing touches. They had consulted over and over again about sleeves and the length of the skirt. The frock had been fitted at least a dozen times. They had wondered where they would put the lace as a bit of trimming, and had decided for frills at the elbows and a tucker in the V-shaped neck of the blouse. They marvelled at their audacity, but felt sure they had done the right thing when they cut the neck rather lower than they would have for a dress to be worn in the daytime.