”You’re not in training to be a fashion model,” Kit said sternly.
Margo subsided, but not happily. “I know”
”Now, about the choices you made,” he continued, “Connie has a few words.”
”Starting with the ball gown,” the outlandish outfitter said, hanging it back on its rack. “The first word is `No.’ Your job isn’t to go down time and party it up. It’s to learn scouting. If you want to revisit London later for a vacation, on your own time and money, fine. Until then, the party dresses stay here.”
Margo sighed. “All right. I’m supposed to go down time and be miserable.”
”Not at all!” Connie said, somewhat sharply. “You have a remarkably negative attitude, Margo, for someone who’s been given the chance to go down time for free. Britannia Gate tours cost several thousand dollars each.”
Margo felt her cheeks burn. She hadn’t thought of it quite like that. “I’m sorry. It’s just I got so excited when you said I could go and that we could pick out clothes ….” She turned an appeal for forgiveness on Kit. “I’m sorry, really I am. I was just so disappointed after I saw those,” she pointed to the glittering silks, velvets, and satins, “then you said what I would get to wear was these.”
The humble farm clothing–men’s farm clothing lacked only mud to make the hideousness complete.
”Apology accepted,” Kit said quietly. “Once you learn your trade, Margo-and you have a great deal yet to learn-you can play dress-up as often as you like. But not while you’re on the job. Never while you’re on the job.”