Almost immediately a svelte, black-gowned figure appeared in the doorway; she wore her hair oval about her face, like a Mona Lisa, and her hands were long and the dusky white of ivory.
"Mr. Arnheim, I want to introduce you to a designer we've got since you went away. Mr. Arnheim—Miss Sternberger."
The whir of sewing-machines from the workrooms cut the silence.
"How do you do?" said Miss Sternberger.
"How do you do?" said Mr. Arnheim.
"Miss Sternberger is like you, Mr. Arnheim—she's always out after novelties; and I will say for her she don't miss out! She put out a line of uncut velvets last winter that was the best sellers we had."
Mr. Arnheim bowed. Mrs. Schlimberg turned to Miss Sternberger.
"Miss Sternberger, will you bring in some of those new models that are going like hot cakes? Just on the forms will do."
"Certainly." She disappeared from the doorway.
Mrs. Schlimberg tapped her forefinger on the desk. "There's the finest little designer we've ever had! I got her off a Philadelphia house, and I 'ain't never regretted the money I'm payin' her. She's done more for the house in eight months than Miss Isaacs did in ten years!"