The skirt was unbelievably short to Constance's eyes, but no more than most of the other garments she'd seen women wearing here. She took it in with the practiced eye of a seamstress. The stitches were small and perfectly even; the cloth was fine, but not sturdy enough for every day without quickly wearing out. And that might be the problem, the meaning behind the frustration in the girl's movements and tone. If she, like Constance had appeared with only the one outfit, and it wouldn't last long...

Constance's mouth pursed as she thought, then set her sewing aside and stood, motioning for the girl to come with her. She wouldn't understand, but it was easier talking than not, so Constance said, "There's a shop, if you're looking for more clothes. I'll show you." She hadn't looked around herself yet, for several reasons, but if it would help the girl.

"Oh! I forgot," she said, stopping almost as soon as she'd started, and put her hand on her chest. "Constance."