“Oh, indeed, miss? We are very sorry that we were obliged to keep you waiting, but we have a wedding order at present on hand, and it is necessary to get some special laces and flowers from Paris without any delay. What can we do for Miss Lushington, miss?”
“First of all,” said Annie, “I want to know if you will make a dress for me. I want to wear it on the prize day at Mrs Lyttelton’s school.”
“Yes, miss, we could manage; although the time is not very long. Still, we have so many of Mrs Lyttelton’s pupils on our books that we should be sorry not to oblige.” Mrs Priestley spoke as though she were royalty. “What sort of dress did you think of our making for you, miss?”
“It must not be expensive,” said Annie, whose secret thought was that she might purchase it partly out of her own money and partly out of Mabel Lushington’s very abundant pocket-money. “I think a pale-blue muslin; and can you make it for about two guineas?”
Mrs Priestley raised her eyebrows in a somewhat scornful manner.
“Quite impossible, miss. But perhaps Mrs Arnold could do it for you.”
Whenever Mrs Priestley wanted to crush a customer she alluded to Mrs Arnold, whose style was so execrable, and whose “ladies”—as Mrs Priestley spoke of them—could be known at any distance by the bad hang of their garments. Annie argued a little longer on the subject of her own dress, and finally a very simple frock was arranged for her, which would not cost the young lady much over three pounds.
Mabel’s letter was then produced.
“This is very, very private,” said Annie Brooke as she gave it to Mrs Priestley.
“Dear Miss Lushington!” murmured Mrs Priestley. “We always take such a great interest in her clothes. It is our wish to do our very utmost to mould our garments round her fine figure.”