“It is very rich,” remarked the saleslady, demurely.
“Not too rich for his blood, I guess,” said Miss Frink, handling the lustrous fabric and putting back her eyeglasses.
“Do you suppose it’s big enough?”
“It is a large size.”
“Do you think he’d feel like a Christmas tree in it?”
“Is he a young man?” asked Millicent.
“Oh, yes. He’s got a mustache and beard now,” said Miss Frink, appearing to think aloud as she caressed the satin musingly. “Of course that makes him look older, and his beard is quite red. Much redder than his hair and, of course, crimson—but that will be off in a few days—” She paused, continuing to consider, and Millicent’s soothing voice fell upon her perturbed thought.
“You see the lining is very nice. They have taken that dark tint in the flowers and matched it, so there is nothing too gay about it, I should think.”
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.”
Miss Frink grimaced her eyeglasses off.