“I’ll take it,” I heard myself say.

Piece by piece over the next two hours, a wardrobe was assembled. Like a butterfly in reverse, I drew on one cocoon after another. With every change of outfit, a new and different Agnes appeared in the mirror, and Mumma hated them all.

Tailored frocks with boyish collars and turned-back cuffs, belted low. (You look like a stick in those things.) Simple straight skirts in good Scottish wool, to be worn under the most beautiful costume tunics in crepe de Chine and printed silks. (They’ll be ruined the first time you wash them.) Round-necked voile blouses with hand-drawn embroidery work. (You’ll snag the openings, Agnes, you know how careless you are.) Shoes next, three pairs. (Two are enough, surely. One for church and one for everyday. Why would anyone need three pairs of shoes?) A long loose overcoat in jade green wool, with a deep shawl collar—stunningly expensive, but the loveliest thing I’d ever worn.

I brought you up to think of others, Mumma said with a defeated sigh. The moment I’m gone, you sink into selfish profligacy.

I will give an equal amount to charity, I promised silently.

“I’ll take it,” I said aloud.

With the dressing room filled and me beginning to wonder where on earth I’d hang all these clothes once I got them home, the jubilant Mildred crooked a varnished finger and led me out to a cosmetics counter. While my purchases were being bagged and boxed, my lips were to be rouged and my eyes smudged with kohl.

“Oh, Mildred, really, I couldn’t!” Balking at long last, I gestured toward my forehead and confided my reluctance. “It will draw attention to—”

“What?” she asked.

“My eye,” I whispered.

“What about it?”

“Well, it—it crosses.”

“Which one?”

“The right. It crosses. When I’m tired.”

She shrugged. “So? Take naps.” She stared hard and finally admitted, “I suppose it does turn in, but it’s not that bad. Makes you look … like you’re really paying attention. Anyway, you’ve got lovely lips. We’ll play them up.”