THE ’BUS RATTLED ALONG AS THEY NEARED THIRTY-FOURTH STREET.
“We will get off at the next corner,” Dorothy told Tavia, “I know of one big store up here.”
They climbed down the narrow, winding stairs and with a bound were in the midst of the Fifth Avenue shopping crowd.
Dorothy shivered under her furs. “Where,” she asked, “do all the flowers come from? No one in the country ever sees flowers in the winter, and here they are blooming like spring time.”
“Do you feel peculiar?” demanded Tavia, stopping suddenly.
“Why, no,” answered Dorothy innocently; “do you?”
“I feel just as if I needed a—nosegay,” said Tavia, laughing slily. “We’re not at all as dashing as we might be!”
They purchased from a thinly-clad little boy two bunches of violets, sweetly scented, daintily tasseled—but made of silk!
“The silkiness accounts for the always fresh and blooming violets,” Dorothy said ruefully. “Now, we look just like real New Yorkers.”
“Now where is that store?” said Dorothy, looking about with a puzzled air. “I’m sure it was right over there.”