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Longueville looked up, put the patterns in his pocket with distracting coolness, bowed to Mademoiselle de Fontaine, and came forward, looking at her keenly. "Mademoiselle," he said to the shopgirl, who followed him, looking very much disturbed, "I will send to settle that account; my house deals in that way.
This may be easily illustrated. Miss Herford's inimitable monologues, being each the apotheosis of some typical Bromide a shopgirl, a country dressmaker, a bargain-hunter and so on become, through her art, intensely sulphitic. They are excruciatingly funny, just because she represents types so common that we recognize them instantly.
"Oh, don't get crackly just because you're a Buffalo bill," says the fiver. "You'd be limp, too, if you'd been stuffed down in a thick cotton-and-lisle-thread under an elastic all day, and the thermometer not a degree under 85 in the store." "I never heard of a pocketbook like that," says I. "Who carried you?" "A shopgirl," says the five-spot. "What's that?" I had to ask.
I really think" she gave a tremulous little laugh "it was a good thing I wasn't dressed to match the car I came in, or they never would have taken the trouble to hunt up the things I wanted at the prices I could pay. The fact that I looked like a shopgirl, too, was such a help!" "A shopgirl!" repeated her father. "You, my dear? What would Jefferson say to that?
"If you're passing that dance hall where they arrested me you know, near Jackson Street drop in and ask for a girl called Ginger. I'd like to see her." Watson smiled widely... The girl Ginger came that very afternoon. She was dressed very quietly in black, with only a faint trace of make-up on her cheeks. Almost anyone would have mistaken her for a drab little shopgirl.
The typical highborn English woman has pale blue eyes, a fine complexion and a clear-cut, rather expressionless face with a profile suggestive of the portraits seen on English postage stamps of the early Victorian period; but in the arranging of her hair any French shopgirl could give her lessons, and any smart American woman could teach her a lot about the knack of wearing clothes with distinction.
In fact," she said, so sincerely that it almost showed pain, yet so lucidly that it almost showed humour, "in fact, you know, I want to BE married. It's well, it's the condition." "The condition ?" He was just vague. "It's the state, I mean. I don't like my own. 'Miss, among us all, is too dreadful except for a shopgirl. I don't want to be a horrible English old-maid."
And when it came to talking with men of brains, she could even use a few clever phrases and leave the rest of the conversation to them, and they were convinced of her brilliant mind." "You have not been a shopgirl," he said steadily. "You belong in a home like mine. If you have lost it by some accident, that is only the fortune of life.
That is the shopgirl smile, and I enjoin you to shun it unless you are well fortified with callosity of the heart, caramels and a congeniality for the capers of Cupid. This smile belonged to Masie's recreation hours and not to the store; but the floorwalker must have his own. He is the Shylock of the stores. When he comes nosing around the bridge of his nose is a toll-bridge.
"I know that pretty blue will just look dear on a friend of mine." She was busy with her money, and the English girl looked on hopefully. So neither saw the twist of tissue paper fly off the dangling fringe of beads and land with a soft little "plump" on the floor by the counter. "Dear me!" breathed the shopgirl, in reply to Betty's promise, "I shall like that.
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