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Miss Jevne, her train wound round her feet like an actress' photograph, lifted her eyebrows to an unbelievable height. "Explain that costume!" she said. "Costume?" repeated Ray, fencing. Miss Jevne's thin lips grew thinner. "You understood that women in this department were to wear black one-piece gowns this week!" Ray smiled a little twisted smile. "Yes, I understood." "Then what "
For standing before one of the plate-glass cases and patting into place with deft fingers the satin bow of a hand-wrought chemise was Ray Willets, in her shiny little black serge skirt and the braver of her two white shirtwaists. Miss Jevne quickened her pace. Ray turned. Her bright brown eyes grew brighter at sight of Miss Jevne's wondrous black.
Ray's little smile grew a trifle more uncertain. " I had the money last week I was going to The baby took sick the heat I guess, coming so sudden. We had the doctor and medicine I Say, your own folks come before black one-piece dresses!" Miss Jevne's cold eyes saw the careful patch under Ray's left arm where a few days before the torn place had won her a reproof. It was the last straw.
Ray Willets finished straightening her counter. Trade was slow. She moved idly in the direction of the black-garbed figure that flitted about in the costly atmosphere of the French section. It must be a very special customer to claim Miss Jevne's expert services. Ray glanced in through the half-opened glass and ivory-enamel doors. "Here, girl," called Miss Jevne. Ray paused and entered.
There is a certain sort of black gown that is more startling and daring than scarlet. Miss Jevne's was that style. Fast black you might term it. Miss Jevne was aware of the flurry and flutter that followed her majestic progress down the aisle to her own section.
Realest of all, there reposed on Miss Jevne's bosom a bar pin of platinum and diamonds very real diamonds set in a severely plain but very real bar of precious platinum. So if you except Miss Jevne's changeless colour, her artificial smile, her glittering hair and her undulating head-of-the-department walk, you can see that everything about Miss Jevne was as real as money can make one.
They knew each time a girl spent a quarter for a cheap sailor collar or a pair of near-silk stockings. Ray Willets, who wanted passionately to be different, whose hands so loved the touch of the lacy, silky garments that made up the lingerie and negligee departments, recognised the perfection of Miss Jevne's faultless realness recognised it, appreciated it, envied it. It worried her too.
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