“This is the jacket. Buttons on the left; see? Instead of the right, as it would in a man's garment. Semi-sailor collar, with knotted soft silk scarf. Oh, it's just a little kink, but they'll love it. They're actually becoming. I've tried 'em. Notice the frogs and cord. Pretty neat, yes? Slight flare at the hips. Makes 'em set and hang right. Perfectly straight, like a man's coat.”
T. A. Buck eyed the garments with a grudging admiration.
“Oh, that part of it don't sound so unreasonable, although I don't believe there is much of a demand for that kind of thing. But the other—-the—the knickerbocker things—that's not even practical. It will make an ugly garment, and the women who would fall for a fad like that wouldn't be of the sort to wear an ugly piece of lingerie. It isn't to be thought of seriously—”
Emma McChesney stepped to the door of the tiny wash-room off her office and threw it open.
“Miss La Noyes! We're ready for you.”
And there emerged from the inner room a trim, lithe, almost boyishly slim figure attired in a bewitchingly skittish-looking garment consisting of knickerbockers and snug brassiere of king's blue satin messaline. Dainty black silk stockings and tiny buckled slippers set off the whole effect.
“Miss La Noyes,” said Emma McChesney, almost solemnly, “this is Mr. T. A. Buck, president of the firm. Miss La Noyes, of the 'Gay Social Whirl' company.”
Miss La Noyes bowed slightly and rested one white hand at her side in an attitude of nonchalant ease.
“Pleased, I'm shaw!” she said, in a clear, high voice.
And, “Charmed,” replied T. A. Buck, his years and breeding standing him in good stead now.