The agent’s eyes snapped. “Indeed not! Don’t you realize, young lady, that original manuscripts are sometimes very valuable? This poet is well known, and plenty of people would be glad to buy them or, what’s worse, steal them.”
Judy had not considered this. It had simply occurred to her that Irene might help arrange the poems. She liked to hear her read in her low, musical voice. She would make the poems live and catch hidden meanings between the lines. Judy tried to explain all this to her employer. She felt that she must excuse her own thoughtlessness.
“Well, if you are so anxious to have your friend help you, bring her here,” the old lady said with a sudden show of generosity.
Irene was thrilled when Judy told her.
“I feel as if this is a real occasion and I ought to dress up for it,” she declared. “A package came this morning from Farringdon, and I’ve been suspecting all the time that it’s a new dress. My birthday isn’t for another week, but do you think Dad would mind if I opened my present now?”
Without waiting for a reply, Irene ran to get the box her father had labeled, For My Little Girl’s Seventeenth Birthday. When she pulled off the wrappings the folds of a shimmering yellow satin dress fell into her hands. She stood up, holding it for Judy and Pauline to admire.
“Gorgeous!” Judy exclaimed. “Look at the puffed sleeves and high waistline! Why, it’s the very newest thing!”
“But it’s a party dress,” Pauline objected. “Really, it’s not at all the thing to wear in Emily Grimshaw’s office.”
“For once,” Irene announced, “I’m going to wear exactly what I want to wear whether it’s proper or not.”
Judy smiled at her independence. She had often felt that way herself. After all, what difference did it make? And Irene was breathtakingly lovely in the new dress. She stood before the long mirror in Pauline’s room while Judy pinned her hair in soft, bright curls at the back of her neck. Then she walked back a little distance, surveying the effect.