Chapter 3

Mrs. Smith was awed; everything in the room looked dirty, old and sad;
Rose’s face looked “funny,” a “funny” colour; it was a merciless pink,
clear and hard, like nothing in nature, but putting nature to shame.

It was then Mr. Minxton entered; they, in their excitement, had
forgotten his dinner; he came in, jovially, to remind them; but at the
sight of the Pink Shawl his humour changed.

“It don’t suit you,” he remarked, coldly.

Rose took it off.

“I liked it,” she quavered, then, with a fatal attempt to imitate the
“insouciance” of the shop damsel, she added, “It was only five pounds
five shillings.”

Mr. Minxton’s glance was withering.

“Only! Well, I never, no wonder they talk of the nation going to pieces
when talk like that is going on! Wicked, I call it.”

“It’s her own money, what she’s worked hard for,” stammered Mrs. Smith,
paling, however, before the dreaded masculine judgment.

Rose was wrapping the Shawl up in the tissue paper; her glance was
supplicant, but Mr. Minxton was too outraged to respond.

“First that soldier, and now this,” he said. “You’re pretty flighty,
aren’t you? Well, I hope you’ll find a husband who can keep you in
luxury, that’s what I hope—”

The next day he left for other rooms; the next month he married the only
daughter of a “warm” man with a tidy little business.

In the list of wedding presents figured: “Mrs. Smith and Rose—A Pink
Shawl!”

THE END

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple
spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors
occur.

Illustrations have been relocated due to using a non-page layout.

A cover was created for this ebook which is placed in the public domain.

[The end of _The Pink Shawl_ by Marjorie Bowen]