"Oh yes, I suppose I can," said Regina, doubtfully, "I wish you were a dressmaker."
"Oh, indeed, no! It does not do, you have not _chic_ if you mix all sorts together. To be _modiste_ and to be _couturière_ is like being a painter and a singer at the same time. But I can tell you of a little Frenchwoman--she could dress you--ah--eugh!" And she kissed the tips of her fingers.
"Well, if you will give me her address I will go to her," said Regina.
"To-day? But it is too late," said Madame Florence. "Mrs. Whittaker is coming upstairs to have tea with me," she added; "it will be ready now."
"Does your friend live far away?" said Regina to Madame Clementine.
"No, not very far, just three streets away. It is _une vraie artiste_--no great price, she is not known. By-and-bye she will be--unattainable, excepting to her old clients. Antoinette, write down the address of Madame d'Estelle. And when you have arranged your gowns with her, you will come back to me for suitable toques?"
"Yes," said Regina, "I will put myself unreservedly in your hands. I feel you are a woman of taste, an artiste. I frankly confess that I am--_not_."
It was with many wreathed smiles, becks and bows and assurances of welcome when she should come again that Regina was finally allowed to return to The Dressing-Room for the tea which was waiting her. Finally, after having written a cheque for her preliminary treatments, she found herself walking along Berners Street in the direction of Oxford Street, and a feeling took possession of her that, after all, fashionable women knew what they were doing when they patronized private establishments. She had heard of them, because details of dress had not wholly ebbed by leaving her high and dry on the shore of high principle, devoid of the herbage of feminine grace. She had heard that no well-dressed woman, no really well-dressed woman, would ever get her clothes at a shop, and her keen and busy brain turned over the subject as she walked away from The Dressing-Room. After all, she had learned much during her years at the helm of the Society for the Regeneration of Women, and she had learned, above all things, to set a true value on the quality which is called individualism. She had learned that you cannot herd humanity with success, and she was now learning that you cannot dress humanity _en bloc_. She felt a curious shyness as she caught sight of her unaccustomed appearance in the shop windows as she passed, and once she stopped as she was walking along Oxford Street, at a large furniture establishment, and looked at herself searchingly. Yes, in spite of the feeling of looseness about her head which worried her not a little, she could see the intense becomingness of the new way in which her hair was arranged. It was then after five o'clock, but she steadily pursued her way in search of Madame d'Estelle. I need not go into the details of her visit. Madame d'Estelle made short work of her new client.