“Isn’t that a store,” said Tavia, “where all those autos and carriages are?”
“Where?” asked Dorothy, still bewildered.
“Where the brown-liveried man is helping ladies out of carriages and things,” Tavia answered.
“Oh,” said Dorothy meekly, “I thought that was a hotel!”
If there was anything in the world more subduedly rich, or more quietly lavish, than the shop that Dorothy and Tavia entered, the girls from the country could not imagine it. The richest and most costly of all things for which the feminine heart yearns, were displayed here. For the first few moments the girls did not talk. They were silent with the wonder of the costliness on every side. Then Tavia said timidly: “Nothing has a price mark on!”
“Hush!” whispered Dorothy, “they don’t have vulgar prices here. They only sell to persons who never ask prices.”
“Oh!” said Tavia, with quick understanding, “however, dare me to ask that wonderful creature with the coiffure, the price of those finger bowls,” murmured Tavia, a yearning entering her soul to possess a priceless article.
“What do you want with finger bowls?” asked Dorothy, mystified.
“How do I know? I may yet need a finger bowl,” enigmatically responded Tavia, “maybe to plant a little fern in.” She handled the finger bowl tenderly. Dorothy, too, picked up a tiny brass horse, hammered in exquisite lines. “Isn’t this lovely!” she exclaimed.
“It’s a wonderful piece of work,” admired Tavia, while she clung with intense yearning to the finger bowl.