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Updated: June 1, 2025
For her there are only black and white. These things she learned and many more, and remembered them, for behind the rosy cheeks and the terrier-bright eyes burned the indomitable desire to get on. And the finished embodiment of all of Ray Willets' desires and ambitions was daily before her eyes in the presence of Miss Jevne, head of the lingerie and negligées.
"You can't stay in this department in that rig!" "Who says so?" snapped Ray with a flash of Halsted Street bravado. "If my customers want a peek at Paquin I'll send 'em to you." "I'll show you who says so!" retorted Miss Jevne, quite losing sight of the queen business. The stately form of the floor manager was visible among the glass showcases beyond. Miss Jevne sought him agitatedly.
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.
All the little sagging lines about her mouth showed up sharply, defying years of careful massage. The floor manager bent his stately head and listened. Then, led by Miss Jevne, he approached Ray Willets, whose deft fingers, trembling a very little now, were still pretending to adjust the perfect pink-satin bow. The manager touched her on the arm not unkindly.
The blonde woman moved and jangled a bit in her chair. "Well, I'll take it," she sighed. "Look at the colour on that girl! And it's real too." She rose heavily and came over to Ray, reached up and pinched her cheek appraisingly with perfumed white thumb and forefinger. "That'll do, girl," said Miss Jevne sweetly. "Take this along and change these ribbons from blue to pink."
Of Miss Jevne it might be said that she was real where Ray was artificial, and artificial where Ray was real. Everything that Miss Jevne wore was real. She was as modish as Ray was shabby, as slim as Ray was stocky, as artificially tinted and tinctured as Ray was naturally rosy-cheeked and buxom. It takes real money to buy clothes as real as those worn by Miss Jevne.
In her hand she carried a soft black something which she thrust at Ray. "Here, put that on in one of the fitting rooms. Be quick about it. It's your size. The department's swamped. Hurry now!" Ray took from Miss Jevne the black silk gown, modest but modish. There was no joy in Ray's face.
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.
"The the lawnjeree, you know. The things with ribbon and handwork and yards and yards of real lace. I've seen 'em in the glass case in the French Room. Seventy-nine dollars marked down from one hundred." The superintendent scribbled on a card. "Show this Monday morning. Miss Jevne is the head of your department. You'll spend two hours a day in the store school of instruction for clerks.
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