nd automobiles, and those elegant
coupes gratuitously provided by Hugo for the use of important clients,
were continually arriving and leaving. Then he returned to the
purchasing multitudes, and plunged therein as into a sea. At intervals a
customer, recognising him, would nudge a friend, and point eagerly.

'That's Hugo. See him, in the gray suit?'

'What? That chap?'

And they would both probably remark at lunch: 'I saw Hugo himself to-day
at Hugo's.'

He took an oath in his secret heart that he would not go near Department
42, the only department which had the slightest interest for him. He
knew that he could not be too discreet. And yet eventually, without
knowing how or why, he perceived of a sudden that his legs carried him
thither. He stopped, at a loss what to do, and then, by the direct
interposition of kindly Fate, a manager spoke to him.... He gazed out of
the corner of his eye. Yes, she was there. He could see her through a
half-drawn portiere in one of the trying-on rooms. She was sitting limp
on a chair, overcome by the tropic warmth of Sloane Street, with her
noble head thrown back, her fine eyes half shut, and her beautiful hands
lying slackly on her black apron.

What an impeachment of civilization that a creature so fair and so
divine should be forced to such a martyrdom! He desired ardently to run
to her and to set her free for the day, for the whole summer, and on
full wages. He wondered if he could trust the manager with instructions
to alleviate her lot.... The next instant she sprang up, giving the
indispensable smile of welcome to some customer who had evidently
entered the trying-on room from the other side. The phenomenon
distressed him. She disappeared from view behind the portiere, and
reappeared, but only for a moment, talking to a foppish old man with a
white moustache. It was Senior Polycarp, the lawyer.

Hugo flushed, and, abandoning the manager in the middle of a sentence,
fled to his central office. He had no confidence in his self-command....
Could this be jealousy? Was it possible that he, Hugo, should be so far
gone? Nay!

But what was Polycarp, that old and desiccated widower, doing in the
millinery department?

He said he must form some definite plan, and begin by giving her a
private room.

CHAPTER III

HUGO EXPLAINS HIMSELF

'And what,' asked Hugo, smiling faintly at Mr. Senior Polycarp--'what is
your client's idea of price?'

For half an hour they had be