He moved after her and she turned and faced him.
“It’s all right!” he said approvingly.
He half put out his hand to touch an end of blue sleeve that trailed away to a tasselled cord.... Then he withdrew his hand. “It’s all right!” he repeated vaguely.
The clerk came forward and lifted the tassel and let it fall in place; her fingers sprayed over the garment in an easy, official way.
“How much is it?” asked Richard More.
She consulted the tag hanging on a bit of gold cord in front. She dropped it.
“Ninety-five dollars,” she said indifferently.
She stooped to arrange a fold of the coat.
Eleanor More turned a little. She seemed to gaze down with wide, reproachful eyes at the woman’s bent form.
Her husband’s tone was crisp. “We understood the price was—less than that,” he said.