me return to my mutton—that is to say, my new green velvet hat.
“‘Do you think, Rilla,’ mother said quietly—far too quietly—‘that it was right to spend so much for a hat, especially just now when the need of the world is so great?’
“‘I paid for it out of my own allowance, mother,’ I exclaimed.
“‘That is not the point. Your allowance is based on the principle of a reasonable amount for each thing you need. If you pay too much for one thing you must cut off somewhere else and that is not satisfactory. But if you think you did right, Rilla, I have no more to say. I leave it to your conscience.’
“I wish mother would not leave things to my conscience! And anyway, what was I to do? I couldn’t take that hat back—I had worn it to a concert in town—I had to keep it! I was so uncomfortable that I flew into a temper—a cold, calm, deadly temper.
“‘Mother,’ I said haughtily, ‘I am sorry you disapprove of my hat—’
“‘Not of the hat exactly,’ said mother, ‘though I consider it in doubtful taste for so young a girl—but of the price you paid for it.’
“Being interrupted didn’t improve my temper, so I went on, colder and calmer and deadlier than ever, just as if mother had not spoken,
“‘—but I have to keep it now. However, I promise you that I will not get another hat for three years or for the duration of the war, if it lasts longer than that. Even you’—oh, the sarcasm I put into the “you’—‘cannot say that what I paid was too much when spread over at least three years.’
