She welcomed the first store as an avenue of escape, and bade him good-morning. "He has just spoiled my day," she thought, as she tossed over silk stockings and lace handkerchiefs in a flurry. "I'm always making myself ridiculous!"
But the zest of shopping came back to her, and she visited store after store, looking at pretty, dainty, feminine things, feeling her money always safe in her pocket, and knowing exactly what she should be weak enough to buy in the end. But it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, and she was feeling tired and a little dishevelled and very hungry, before she came to the Mecca of her wanderings.
It was a fashionable shoe-store, and in the very centre of the show window hung a fascinating pair of little red satin slippers, with Louis Quinze heels. Beatrice shut her eyes and grappled with temptation. "I haven't a thing that's suitable to go with them," she argued to herself. "In fact, I believe they would be out of place anywhere but in a French dressing room. But they are so sweet and dainty with their beautiful little gilt heels——"
She opened the door and went in. The place was filled with customers, but a bustling salesman came forward and smiled into Beatrice's pretty flushed face. Yes, certainly, he would take them out of the show window. They were the only pair in stock,—a sample pair. He tried one of the satin slippers on Beatrice's dainty foot, and stepped back to admire the effect. "They are a perfect fit," he exclaimed.
"Yes," said Beatrice. They pinched her toes a little, but she would not wear them often. "Five dollars, did you say?" Then she should have to wait for the silk hose to match. She had hoped they would not be more than four. She pondered a moment, and then decided aloud, "I'll take them."
The salesman hurried away to put them in their box, and Beatrice, looking around for the first time, encountered the keen glance of a pair of dark eyes at the opposite counter. It was Francis Lindsay.
There was one dismayed moment,—then she hastily averted her glance without bowing in recognition. "He has watched me buy those silly slippers," she thought, growing red and white by turns. "He has stood there watching me admire myself in them. His eyes were full of unutterable things. Oh, I just—hate him!"
She glanced into the long mirror opposite, and it reflected back a figure from which all the morning daintiness had fled. Her boots were dusty, her gloves gaping at the fingers. The jaunty hat was awry;—her face was flushed, and burned with fatigue and heat.