Eloquent had never before seen anyone in the least like this customer, who, with slender hands, sat turning over little ready-made suits, boy's suits, and feeling the stuff to see if it were strong; she had taken off one of her long white gloves, and it lay beside the suits.
Eloquent gazed and gazed, and edged up the side of the counter towards her. Had he possessed eyes for anybody else he would have observed that the four assistants were staring also, and that his father, even, seemed very much absorbed by this particular purchaser.
And, after all, why?
She was just a tall, quite young woman, very simply dressed in white.
But she was beautiful.
Not pretty; beautiful in a large, luminous, quite intelligible way.
It was all there, the gracious sovereignty of feature, colouring, above all, expression—that governs men.
Little Eloquent knew it and came edging up the shop, drawn irresistibly as by some powerful magnetic force.
The young shopmen knew it, and neglected their patrons as much as they dared to stare at her.
Mr Gallup knew it, and stood rubbing his hands and thoroughly enjoying the good moment.