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Updated: July 22, 2025
Miss Sternberger threw herself before them like a melodrama queen flagging a train. "Hello, Bella!" she said in a voice as low as a 'cello. Miss Blondheim, who had once sold the greatest number of aprons at a charity bazar, turned cold eyes upon the intruder. "Hello, Myra!" she said in cool tones of dismissal. There was a pause; the color swept up and surged over Miss Blondheim's face.
His first letter was unstamped and addressed to him on hotel stationery; the handwriting was an unfamiliar backhand and the inclosure brief: DEAR MR. ARNHEIM: I am very sorry we could not keep our date, but I got a message and I got to go in on the 7:10 train. Hope to see you when I come back. Sincerely, MYRA STERNBERGER. Mr. Arnheim replaced the letter slowly in the envelope.
Mrs. Schlimberg turned to a second model. "Look at this here ratine cutaway. If the Phoebe Snow ain't the talk of New York before next week, then I don't know my own name. Ain't it so, Miss Sternberger?" Miss Sternberger ran her smooth hand over the lace shoulder of the gown. "This is a great seller," she replied, smiling at Mr. Arnheim.
Without, a moon low and heavy and red came out from the horizon; it cast a copper-gold band across the water. "Let's go down to the edge, kiddo." Mr. Arnheim helped Miss Sternberger plow daintily through the sand. "If I get sand in my shoes I'll blame you, Mr. Arnheim." "Little slippers like yours can't hold much." She giggled.
I'm puttin' some made-in-America models in the import-room to-day that will open your eyes." Mr. Arnheim laughed and opened his portfolio. "I'll show you these till my trunks come up," he said. "Just a minute, Arnheim. I want to show you some stuff Miss Sternberger!" Mrs. Schlimberg raised her voice slightly, "Miss Sternberger!"
"Miss Sternberger, will you bring in some of those new models that are going like hot cakes? Just on the forms will do." "Certainly." She disappeared from the doorway. Mrs. Schlimberg tapped her forefinger on the desk. "There's the finest little designer we've ever had! I got her off a Philadelphia house, and I 'ain't never regretted the money I'm payin' her.
If there's one fellow I can't stand it's him." Miss Sternberger moved away with her chin tilted at a sharp angle. At a turn in the veranda she came suddenly upon Miss Bella Blondheim and a sleek, well-dressed young man with grayish hair. Miss Blondheim's hand was hooked with a deadlock clutch to the arm of her companion.
You'd be married to Marcus Finberg now if you'd 'a' worked it right and listened to your mother." "Aw, maw, lemme alone. I couldn't make him pop, could I? I don't see other girls' mothers always buttin' in." Out in the cool of the veranda Miss Sternberger strolled over to the railing and leaned her back against a white wooden column.
"We thertainly are," agreed Mr. Epstein, regarding Miss Blondheim with small, admiring eyes. Miss Sternberger edged away. "Pleased to have met you, Mr. Epstein." Mr. Arnheim edged with her and they moved on their way toward the dining-room. Mrs. Blondheim from her point of vantage the wicker rocker leaned toward her sister-in-law.
Miss Sternberger placed the well-groomed left hand, with a seal ring on the third finger, upon the thread-lace bosom of her gown. "How you frightened me!" "It's a nice night, Miss Sternberger. Want to walk on the beach?" "Don't mind if I do," she said. They strolled the length of the veranda, down the steps to the boardwalk and the beach beyond. Mrs.
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