Her hazel eyes met Miss Frink’s and her smile was winning. “Of course, you know best, but it seems to me this is a dressing-gown for Prince Charming.”
Millicent blushed. Miss Frink liked to see her do it.
“Oh, that’s just nonsense, but you know, the hero of all the fairy tales?”
“Well, Prince Charming is always the hero,” laughed Millicent. Miss Frink in her present torn mental condition was not frightening. “I think this dressing-gown looks good enough for him.”
“Very well.” Miss Frink took a long breath and replaced her glasses. “I’ll take it.”
“Do you wish it sent?” Millicent was again the demure saleslady.
“There are mules that go with it,” suggested the girl. She turned back to the drawer and brought out the glinting satin slippers.
The corners of Miss Frink’s lips drew down. “What fool things for a man!” she remarked.
“I don’t see why,” said Millicent, perceiving that the customer wished urging. “They’re very comfortable, and when he wears the gown he must have some sort of slippers.”
Miss Frink started. “I don’t believe he has any,” she mused. “Put them in,” she added, and sighed again.
“You’re a very good saleswoman,” she said at last. “Probably hungry this minute. I am.”
“Oh, that’s no matter for me. Did—” the girl paused, the box in her hand. “Did you want the price marks taken off?”
“Well, well! You have got more than human intelligence. Of course I do. How much are they, by the way?”
Millicent said nothing, for her customer seized the articles and examined the marks.
“Well”—straightening up—“Prince Charming thinks pretty well of himself, doesn’t he? All right, let the hide go with the hoofs, put the mules in.”
While the box was being wrapped, Miss Frink looked so closely at Millicent that her ready color came again.
“I never have time to beat about the bush. How would you like to come and read to me an hour every day? I’ve lost my reader and I like your voice.”
“Oh, Miss Frink”—the girl’s hands clasped together unconsciously. “I know Damaris. She was so sorry to have offended you. Her hair will grow again very soon—”
“Well, her common sense won’t,” returned Miss Frink impatiently. “When a thing is past with me it’s past. I have no post mortems. Think it over, Miss Duane.”