But he stood still and let Sylvia pin the shawl around his neck.

Sylvia seemed to have suddenly acquired a curious maternal authority over him, and he submitted to it as if it were merely natural that he should.
Richard Alger went meekly down the road, wearing the old brown shawl that had often draped Sylvia Crane's slender feminine shoulders when she walked abroad, since she was a young girl.

Sylvia had always worn it corner-wise, but she had folded it square for him as making it more of a masculine garment.

Two corners waved out stiffly from his square shoulders.

He tried to swing his arms unconcernedly under it; once the fringe hit his hand and he jumped.
He was shame-faced when he struck out into the main road, but he did not dream of taking off the shawl.