The corners of Miss Frink’s lips drew down. “What fool things for a man!” she remarked.
“I don’t see why,” said Millicent, perceiving that the customer wished urging. “They’re very comfortable, and when he wears the gown he must have some sort of slippers.”
Miss Frink started. “I don’t believe he has any,” she mused. “Put them in,” she added, and sighed again.
“You’re a very good saleswoman,” she said at last. “Probably hungry this minute. I am.”
“Oh, that’s no matter for me. Did—” the girl paused, the box in her hand. “Did you want the price marks taken off?”
“Well, well! You have got more than human intelligence. Of course I do. How much are they, by the way?”
Millicent said nothing, for her customer seized the articles and examined the marks.
“Well”—straightening up—“Prince Charming thinks pretty well of himself, doesn’t he? All right, let the hide go with the hoofs, put the mules in.”
While the box was being wrapped, Miss Frink looked so closely at Millicent that her ready color came again.
“What did Ramsay say your name was?”