They spent the evening in cutting down some of Mabel’s underclothes, and Sylvia wondered more than ever how she could have once found her so objectionable. In an excess of affection she hugged Mabel and thanked her warmly for her kindness.
“Go on,” said Mabel. “There’s nothing to thank me for. You’d do the same for me.”
“But I used to be so beastly to you.”
“Oh, well, you were only a kid. You didn’t understand about love. Besides, I was very nervous in those days. I expect there were faults on both sides. I spoke to the manager about you, and I’m sure it’ll be all right.”
The following morning Sylvia accompanied Mabel to the Exhibition and, after being presented to Mr. Woolfe, the manager, she was engaged to sell cigarettes and serve coffee in the Hall of a Thousand and One Marvels from eleven in the morning till eleven at night on a salary of fourteen shillings a week, all extras to be shared with seven other young ladies similarly engaged.
“You’ll be Amethyst,” said Mr. Woolfe. “You’d better go and try on your dress. The idea is that there are eight beautiful odalisques dressed like precious stones. Pretty fancy, isn’t it? Now don’t grumble and say you’d rather be Diamond or Turquoys, because all the other jools are taken.”
Sylvia passed through an arched doorway hung with a heavy curtain into the dressing-room of the eight odalisques, which lacked in Eastern splendor, and was very draughty. Seven girls, mostly older than herself, were wrestling with veils and brocades.
“He said we was to cover up our faces with this. It is chiffong or tool, dear?”
“Oh, Daisy, you are silly to let him make you Rewby. Why don’t you ask him to let you be Saffer? You don’t mind, do you, kiddie? You’re dark. You take Daisy’s Rewby, and let her be Saffer.”
“Aren’t we going to wear anything over these drawers? Oh, girls, I shall feel shy.”