“My old white,” said Meg, blushing. “Let’s see,” everyone begged.
As Meg displayed it there was a stunned silence. Meg felt them pity her poverty. Waves of bitterness swept over her as the others showed off their beautiful ball dresses, which billowed like clouds of gauzy butterflies.
“You can’t wear the white. It’s a day dress,” Sallie said at last. “I know! We’ll dress you up.”
She called her French maid and between them they transformed Meg. They powdered her neck and arms, rubbed her with scent, rouged her cheeks, painted her lips and crimped her hair.