“Here are some collars,” said Donald. “We might as well begin on those.”
Aunt Crete examined them with enthusiasm, and finally picked out two at twenty-five cents apiece.
“Are those the best you have?” questioned Donald.
“O, no,” said the saleswoman, quick to identify the purchaser that did not stop at price; “did you want real or imitation?”
“Real, by all means,” he answered promptly.
“O Donald,” breathed Aunt Crete in a warning whisper, “real lace comes dreadful high. I’ve heard Luella say so. Besides, I shouldn’t have anything to wear it with, nor any place to go fixed up like that.”
“Have you forgotten you’re going to the Traymore in a few days?” he asked her with a twinkle in his eye. “And what about the gray silk? Won’t it go with that? If not, we’ll get something better.”
Assisted by the saleswoman, they selected two beautiful collars of real lace, and half a dozen plain ones for commoner wear.
“Couldn’t you go with us?” asked Donald of the saleswoman as the purchase was concluded. “My aunt wishes to get a good many things, and neither she nor I is much used to shopping. We’d like to have your advice.”