Tollington Moon had not managed his nieces' affairs so badly after all if one of them could afford herself extravagances of that sort.

The blouse therefore might be taken as a sign and symbol of his innermost integrity.
So Mrs.Moon was content with but one more parting shot.
"I don't say you can't afford the money, I say you can't afford the colour--not at your time of life." Two tears that had gathered in Miss Quincey's eyes now fell on the silk, deepening the mauve-pink to a hideous magenta.
"I was deceived in the colour," she said as she turned from her tormentor.
She toiled upstairs to the back bedroom and took it off.

She could never wear it.

It was waste--sheer waste; for no other woman could wear it either; certainly not Louisa; she had made it useless for Louisa by paring it down to her own ridiculous dimensions.

Louisa was and always had been a head and shoulders taller than she was; and she had a bust.
So Miss Quincey came down meek and meagre in the old dress that she served her for so many seasons, and she looked for peace.