"You are one of our employees?"
"Yes. I am a sales girl in the toy department. I wish to make a serious complaint."
"A complaint? Your own department is the proper channel for that."
"I cannot ask the man to judge himself," returned Jean, simply.
He gave her another sharp look.
"Oh," he said, with a change of tone. "Come in." Then, to the elderly butler, who during this interval had held the door ajar with an air of not listening, "The Study."
Jean seemed to recall that the beautiful shop-girl had encountered a "study," which could have been no more luxurious than this. She queried, while she waited, what the library and more pretentious apartments could be like. The room seemed to her of regal splendor. It was paneled and cross-beamed, and a fireplace in keeping with the architecture well-nigh filled one end wall. The light fell from a wonderful affair of opalescent glass which gave new tones to the oriental fabrics underfoot and added richness to the lavishly employed mahogany. No other wood had been permitted here. It glowed dully from beam, panel, and cornice; from the mantel, the bookshelves, the carved cabinet concealing a safe; from the massive griffin-legged desk at which the owner of it all, as florid as his taste, presently took his seat.
"Now, then," he said, "tell me explicitly what you charge."
She omitted nothing. Her listener followed her closely and once, when she gave Rose's version of the firm's policy, he shook his head dissentingly, but whether in disbelief of herself or in condemnation of the floor-walker, she could not guess.
"This is a grave accusation," he said, when she had done. "It involves not only Mr. Rose,—who, let me say, has always been most efficient,—but the good name of the whole establishment."