“I say. What’s a shop for if ladies can’t call and see things? Is this a private shop for your friends?”
“No, but this morning is exceptional. I really must ask you to go—” she glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten minutes past eleven, and royalty was hideously prompt. “I dislike being rude, but I must ask you to go at once.”
“Really, now!” The woman sat herself on the little sofa before the mantel and spread out her gaudy skirts. “I ain’t going to be put out. Brass is brass, and mine’s as good as any. Wot you say, Frenchie?”
“That’s what.” Her partner was holding a large hat on her uplifted arm, and twirling it from side to side. “And I want a hat. Don’t mind trying ’em all on, one by one.”
“If you don’t go at once, I shall call the police.”
“Police? Wot for? Ain’t we behaving ourselves proper? I call that libel, I do.”
At this moment the door, which Ishbel had taken care to close, flew open, and royalty entered, followed by two slim young daughters. The eyes of the lady on the sofa bulged, but her presence of mind did not desert her. She sprang to her feet and threw her arm round Ishbel’s waist.
“Your hats are too sweet, dearie,” she exclaimed. “I shall take four to-day and come back to-morrow —”
At the same moment the other woman, who had dropped the hat, lit a cigarette.
Royalty gasped, made a motion not unlike that of a mother hen when she spreads her wings to protect her chicks from a sudden shower, then shooed her girls out and down the stairs.