“Let us cross to the square,” said Harriet. “It’s no use taking the little woman that works for me; we must get the best help we can.”
A few moments later they entered—not without a feeling of awe, especially on Harriet’s part—the largest establishment of its kind in Drum.
“Call Miss Adeline,” said the smart personage who had listened to their piteous tale. “We don’t usually alter garments not made by ourselves. Still—”
Both of the girls gave a sudden gasp, for in the person of Miss Adeline, who came forward at this moment from far-back recesses, both simultaneously recognized the fair little maiden of the tryst.
“Mynheer Mopius, Villa Blanda,” said the black-silk manager. “Very well. Perhaps Miss Adeline had better accompany you at once. There certainly is no time to be lost.”
With feelings utterly indescribable the three walked off together.
A few moments later, Harriet having fled, Ursula sat helping the dress-maker in the oppressive silence of the “second best spare room.” The click of the scissors was becoming insupportable. Even the occasional rustle of the pendent frock seemed a relief.
“I think we have met before,” said Ursula, at last, very gently.
“Really, Juffrouw? A great many ladies come to our place,” replied the girl, bending over her work.
For a moment Ursula felt nonplussed, but her pity rose paramount.