ain
that they were curious as to her identity. One of them made a
venture.

"And is this your--your daughter?"

Steptoe explained, not without dignity, that the young lady was not
his daughter, but that she had come into quite a good bit of money,
and had done it sudden like. She needed a 'igh, grand outfit, though
for the present she would be content with three or four of the dresses
most commonly worn by a lydy of stytion. He preferred to nyme no
nymes, but he was sure that even Margot would not regret her
confidence--and he had the cash, as they saw, in his pocket.

Of this the result was an exchange between the madams of comprehending
looks, while, in French, one said to the other that it might be well
to consult Madame Simone.

Madame Simone, who bustled in from the back room, was not in black,
but in frowzy gray; her coiffure was not a la Marcel, but as Letty
described it, "all anyway." A short, stout, practical Frenchwoman, she
had progressed beyond the need to consider looks, and no longer
considered them. The two shapely subordinates with whom Steptoe had
been negotiating followed her at a distance like attendants.

She disposed of the whole matter quickly, addressing the attendants
rather than the postulants for Margot's favor.

"Mademoiselle she want an outfit--good!--bon! We don't know her, but
what difference does that make to me?--qu'est ce que c'est que cela me
fait? Money is money, isn't it?--de l'argent c'est de l'argent,
n'est-ce pas?--at this time of year especially--a cette saison de
l'annee surtout."

To Steptoe and Letty she said: "'Ave the goodness to sit yourselves
'ere. Me, I will show you what we 'ave. A street costume first for
mademoiselle. If mademoiselle will allow me to look at her--Ah, oui!
Ze taille--what you call in Eenglish the figure--is excellent. Tres
chic. With ze proper closes mademoiselle would have style--de
l'elegance naturelle--that sees itself--cela se voit--oui--oui----"

Meditating to herself she studied Letty, indifferent apparently to the
actual costume and atrocious hat, like a seeress not viewing what is
at her feet but events of far away.

With a sudden start she sprang to her convictions. "I 'ave it. J'y
suis." A shrill piercing cry like that of a wounded cockatoo went down
the long room. "Alphonsine! Alphon_sine_!"

Someone appeared at the door of the communicating rooms. Madame Simone
gave her orders in a few sharp staccato French sentences. After that