A Glass of Blessings by Barbara Pym Page B

something away from the experience, I thought; perhaps writers always do this, from situations that merely shock and embarrass ordinary people. And after all, Miss Daunt was probably only a little odd. Nevertheless I was glad when I was lying down in another room, drinking rather too sweet tea. I was sure that Miss Daunt would have refused indignantly had she been asked if she wanted to lie down after she had given her blood.
    ‘Now you mustn’t rush away too soon as it’s your first time,” said Mary fussily.
    ‘Not like you did that morning at the Settlement,’ I reminded her.
    ‘I feel quite dashing having the afternoon off,’ said Mary. ‘Are you doing anything afterwards?’
    ‘Well, I don’t know really,’ I said cautiously, wondering what she was about to suggest.
    ‘I was just wondering if you would like to come and help me to choose a dress,’ Mary went on. ‘I really do need a new one, you know—a sort of wool dress suitable for parish evening occasions.’
    ‘A sort of wool dress suitable for parish evening occasions’—I turned the depressing description over in my mind. Poor Mary, was that really all the social life she had? I supposed that it must be.
    ‘Mother was saying that my blue is so shabby that I must get something else.’ She mentioned the name of an old- established but fashionable shop where her mother had an account, so we made our way there. I was surprised, knowing the shop, that Mary did not appear better dressed.
    ‘I usually go to the sales,’ she added, explaining what I wanted to know. They have some very good reductions, but I suppose I shall have to pay more now.’
    Obviously, then, it was Mary and people like her who bought the trying electric blue or dingy olive green dress which had been reduced because nobody could wear it. And she probably gave the money she saved to the church or some charitable organization. And I bought as many clothes as I wanted in all the most becoming styles and colours, gave a little money to the church and none at all to charitable organizations. The contrast was an uncomfortable one and I did not wish to dwell on it. It was better when we were engulfed in the perfumed air and soft carpets of the shop, and Mary, like a schoolgirl being taken out for a half holiday, was excitedly calling my attention to the various counters.
    ‘What lovely scarves! The colours are so pretty now, aren’t they? And all these beads and jewels—it’s like Aladdin’s cave, isn’t it!’ she chattered. ‘But I suppose dresses will be upstairs, so we’d better not waste time down here.’
    We entered the ‘gown salon’, which was rather empty at this time of the afternoon; acres of grey carpet seemed to stretch in front of us. A black-gowned saleswoman advanced upon us and addressed her offer of help to me.
    ‘Well, it’s really I who want to be helped,’ said Mary in her open way. ‘I just want an everyday wool dress in blue or green, nothing too elegant.’
    ‘Have you ever considered black?’ I asked when the saleswoman had gone away to get some dresses. ‘I think it would suit you.’
    ‘Do you?’ asked Mary doubtfully. ‘I’ve never worn it, except when Father died. Mother doesn’t consider it suitable for girls. I mean,’ she smiled, ‘she didn’t when I was a girl—so I’ve nearly always had blue or green.’
    She tried a few dresses which fitted quite well but were uninteresting. Then I asked the saleswoman to bring something in black. I wondered why I was taking all this trouble over Mary Beamish, for when one came to think of it what did it matter what she wore? She might just as well buy a dress as much like her old blue as possible, for all the difference it would make to her life.
    But when the black dress was brought it fitted best of all, and the plain bodice and full pleated skirt were very becoming.
    ‘The neckline is rather severe,’ said Mary critically. ‘Still, I suppose it would do for church