of her shears. "That gives you the fulness without
bunching, d'you see?"

"Sure," assented Koritz, head designer; "but when you get it cut you'll
find this piece is wasted, ain't it?" He marked out a triangular
section of cloth with one expert forefinger.

"No; that works into the ruffle," explained Emma. "Here, I'll cut it.
Then you'll see."

She grasped the shears firmly in her right hand, smoothed the cloth
spread before her with a nervous little pat of her left, pushed her
bright hair back from her forehead, and prepared to cut. At which
critical moment there entered Annie, the errand-girl, with the three
bits of white pasteboard.

Emma glanced down at them and waved Annie away.

"Can't see them. Busy."

Annie stood her ground.

"Mr. Buck said you'd see 'em. They're waiting."

Emma picked up one of the cards. On it Buck had scribbled a single
word: "Movers." Mrs. T. A. Buck smiled. A little malicious gleam
came into her eyes.

"Show 'em in here, Annie," she commanded, with a wave of the huge
shears. "I'll teach 'em to interrupt me when I've got my hands in the
bluing-water."

She bent over the table again, measuring with her keen eye. When the
three were ushered in a moment later, she looked up briefly and nodded,
then bent over the table again. But in that brief moment she had the
three marked, indexed and pigeonholed. If one could have looked into
that lightning mind of hers, one would have found something like this:

"Hmm! What Ida Tarbell calls 'Restless women.' Money, and always have
had it. Those hats were born in one of those exclusive little shops
off the Avenue. Rich but somber. They think they're advanced, but
they still resent the triumph of the motor-car over the horse. That
girl can't call her soul her own. Good eyes, but too sad. He probably
didn't suit mother."

What she said was:

"Howdy-do. We're just bringing a new skirt into the world. I thought
you might like to be in at the birth."

"How very interesting!" chirped the two older women. The girl said
nothing, but a look of anticipation brightened her eyes. It deepened
and glowed as Emma McChesney Buck bent to her task and the great jaws
of the shears opened and shut on the virgin cloth. Six pairs of eyes
followed the fascinating steel before which the cloth rippled and fell
away, as water is cleft by the prow of a stanch little boat. Around
the curves went the shears, guided by Emma's firm white hands,