Her lonely life had been brightened by the companionship of her young lover . The youth and girlhood of which fate had cheated her had come to her with love ; the future had looked rosy with promise ; now it had darkened with dourness and greyness . Maggie Hatfield came that day to sew . Bessy had intended to have a dark-blue silk made up and an evening waist of pale pink cashmere . She had expected to wear the latter at a party which was to come off a fortnight later , and she had got it to please Lawrence , because he had told her that pink was his favourite colour . She would have neither it nor the silk made up now . She put them both away and instead brought out an ugly pattern of snuff-brown stuff , bought years before and never used . `` But where is your lovely pink , Bessy ? '' asked the dressmaker . `` Are n't you going to have it for the party ? '' `` No , I 'm not going to have it made up at all , '' said Bessy listlessly . `` It 's too gay for me . I was foolish to think it would ever suit me . This brown will do for a spring suit . It does n't make much difference what I wear . '' Maggie Hatfield , who had not been at prayer meeting the night beforehand knew nothing of what had occurred , looked at her curiously , wondering what Lawrence Eastman could see in her to be as crazy about her as some people said he was . Bessy was looking her oldest and plainest just then , with her hair combed severely back from her pale , dispirited face . `` It must be her money he is after , '' thought the dressmaker . `` She looks over thirty , and she ca n't pretend to be pretty . I believe she thinks a lot of him , though . ''
For the most part , Lynnfield people believed that Bessy had thrown Lawrence XXXXX .
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