"You'll pardon an old woman, Miss Enschede," said Sister Prudence; "but where in this world did you get that dress?" Ruth picked up both sides of the skirt and spread it, looking down. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes.
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