"Yes—I think so."
"I didn't have a chance to drop round last night. I was out with one of the buyers. How do you like Mrs. Tucker?"
"She's very good, isn't she?"
"She'll never get along. She works hard, too—but not for herself. In this world you have to look out for Number One. I had a swell dinner last night. Lobster—I love lobster—and elegant champagne—up to Murray's—such a refined place—all fountains and mirrors—really quite artistic. And my gentleman friend was so nice and respectful. You know, we have to go out with the buyers when they ask us. It helps the house sell goods. And we have to be careful not to offend them."
Miss Hinkle's tone in the last remark was so significant that
Susan looked at her—and, looking, understood.
"Sometimes," pursued Miss Hinkle, eyes carefully averted, "sometimes a new girl goes out with an important customer and he gets fresh and she kicks and complains to Mr. Jeffries—or Mr. Jonas—or Mr. Ratney, the head man. They always sympathize with her—but—well, I've noticed that somehow she soon loses her job."
"What do you do when—when a customer annoys you?"
"I!" Miss Hinkle laughed with some embarrassment. "Oh, I do the best I can." A swift glance of the cynical, laughing, "fast" eyes at Susan and away. "The best I can—for the house—and for myself. . . . I talk to you because I know you're a lady and because I don't want to see you thrown down. A woman that's living quietly at home—like a lady—she can be squeamish. But out in the world a woman can't afford to be—no, nor a man, neither. You don't find this set down in the books, and they don't preach it in the churches—leastways they didn't when I used to go to church. But it's true, all the same."
They were a few minutes early; so Miss Hinkle continued the conversation while they waited for the opening of the room where Susan would be outfitted for her work. "I called you Miss Sackville," said she, "but you've been married—haven't you?"
"Yes."