Edna had given her for Christmas. She could buy another voile nightie, and that would make six; only there was no one at home to launder them for her. She couldn't possibly buy enough to do her for the entire stay, and obviously they expected you to have a clean nightie at least once a day. She worried over that. What could she do? To send them to a regular laundry was impossible. They wouldn't be ready in time. Eddie would wash them, she knew, but he wouldn't be able to iron them. The other items included a kimono, bedroom slippers, brush, soap, washcloth, toothbrush, tooth paste, talcum powder, and two towels.
She decided to ask Edna's advice in the matter of the nightgowns.
"Honey," said Edna, "people don't take voile nighties to a sanitarium. Sorry to tell you so, but it's true. You'd think you was looking at Ziegfeld's chorus in bed to take a look at the things the women wear."
Dot's worry pucker appeared suddenly on her brow. It was always like this. Even at the movies, she was the worst dressed girl in the place. God, she couldn't go to bear a child without being conscious of the inferior grade of her nightgowns.
Edna saw that Dot was going to cry. She spoke rapidly, keeping an eye on the worry pucker. "You know, Dot, I was going to marry Jim. I thought about it a long time. Even a person as old and decrepit as I am loves to have nice things; so I bought a lot of underwear and things for the honeymoon that I'll never have. I have two dozen crêpe-de-Chine nighties and God knows how many chemises and step-ins and things like that. Let me give you six of the nighties, and Eddie can bring them back to me as they get soiled, and I'll do 'em up and return them to you. All right?"
