When Madame had duly discussed her breakfast, and recovered breath after her ascent to her private apartments, Floy was summoned to her presence.
The young girl came quietly into the dressing-room, where the lady reclined in a large easy chair.
Madame started at sight of her, uttering a low exclamation.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling a little as she spoke, “and what is your name?”
“I am one of Mrs. Sharp’s apprentices, and my name is Florence Kemper. I have cut and basted the lining of your dress; shall I fit it on you now?”
“Yes—no; Mary will put it on me and see if it is all right. Mary knows my ways.”
Madame’s tone was still agitated, and she seemed flurried and uneasy under Floy’s glance.
The girl noted it, and with true delicacy turned her eyes in another direction while Mary performed the required service.
Madame stood up before the glass. “I think it fits, Mary, doesn’t it?”