“I feel foolish with such compliments,” Dorothy whispered to her aunt. “I can’t see what I have done to deserve them?”
“You discovered Miette,” replied her aunt, simply, “and that seems to be more than even the smartest lawyers in New York had been able to do.”
Dorothy did not exactly understand this remark, but they were downtown now, and within sight of Gorden-Granfield’s establishment.
Through the great department store Miette led Mrs. White and Dorothy to the basement—where, the French girl said, Marie worked.
“She is sure to be on the floor now,” exclaimed Miette, displaying a strange familiarity with “store terms.”
Down in the basement people crowded and fought to get closer to the bargain counters. Dorothy was not accustomed to this sort of shopping—she was almost carried off her feet with the rush and crush. Mrs. White bit her lips—
“And did you actually work here?” she whispered to Miette.
“Yes,” replied the child, “Is it not terrible?”
“Awful! There is absolutely not a breath of air.”
“That was what made me sick,” said Miette. “I could not stand—the atmosphere.”