e boast she had
made, that with "nothing but a few rags and a Bakst inspiration" she
could put together a gorgeous costume for a fancy-dress ball.

"When you want to set up for a rival to Nadine, I'll back you," Peter
had retorted, and they had both laughed.

Now, with the immense but impersonal "backing" of Peter Rolls, Sr.'s,
great shop, she had the Bakst inspiration and the tingling ambition to
set up (in a very small way) as a rival to Nadine.

"I beg your pardon," she stammered to Miss Stein, and hastened on as a
fierce, astonished look was fastened upon her from under a black cloud
of stormy brow. "I--I hope you'll excuse my interrupting, but I've
been a model of Nadine's, and--and I have an idea, if you'll allow
me--I mean, you don't seem to like these things we have to sell. I
believe we could make something of them if we hurried."

All through she had the feeling that if she could not hold Miss
Stein's eyes until she had compelled interest, hope was lost. She put
her whole self into the effort to hold the eyes, and she held them,
talking fast, pouring the magnetic force of her enthusiasm into the
angry, unhappy soul of the other.

"What do you mean?" asked Miss Stein, abruptly taking the sharp,
judicial air of the business woman. Half resentful, half contemptuous,
she could not afford to let slip the shadow of a chance.

"I'll show you, if I may," said Win.

She, the outsider, the intruder, suddenly dominated the situation. The
others, even Miss Stein herself, gave way before the Effect in black
as it came close to one of the counters and with quick, decided
touches began manipulating those blouses, sashes, and ladies' fancy
neckwear which the Queen of England could not sell at a charity
bazaar.

A box of steel pins of assorted sizes lay on a cleared corner of the
counter which Win had approached. It had been brought, perhaps, for
the pinning of labels onto the newly repriced stock. Win took a purple
sash and draped it round the waistline of a dull-looking, sky-blue
blouse. Quickly the draping was coaxed into shape and firmly held with
pins. Then under the collar was fastened a crimson bow ("ladies' fancy
neckwear!") which had been hideous in itself, but suddenly became
beautiful as a butterfly alighting on a flower.

"My!" exclaimed the anemic girl, and glanced cautiously from under her
eyelids to see whether approval or disgust were the popular line to
take.

But Miss Stein--still resentful, and