“No, dear; I do not think it is good enough, either for the money or for your purpose,” Dorothy said. “The color is lovely; but don’t be guided wholly by that.”
“No. I suppose you are right,” sighed Tavia.
She shook her head at the clerk and prepared to follow her friend, who had already left the counter. Hastily picking up what she supposed to be her bag, Tavia ran two or three steps to catch up with Dorothy. As she did so a feminine shriek behind her startled everybody within hearing.
“That girl—she’s got my bag! Stop her!”
“Oh! what is it?” gasped Dorothy, turning.
“Somebody’s stolen something,” stammered Tavia, turning around too.
Then she looked at the bag in her hand. Instead of her own seal-leather one, it was a much more expensive bag, gold mounted and plethoric.
“There she is! She’s got it in her hand!”
A woman dressed in the most extreme fashion and most expensively, darted down the aisle upon the two girls. She pointed a quivering, accusing finger directly at poor Tavia.