“Well, how is it to be managed, if you will be so good as to inform me, Amy?”
“How? Why, just go to the dressmaker's and order them, of course.”
“What dressmaker's, dear?”
“Well, I think that last New York dressmaker is the best. She really has imagination like a French dressmaker. She doesn't copy; she creates. She is really quite an artist.”
“Madame Potoffsky, you mean?”
“Yes, dear. The dressmaker whose husband they say was a descendant of the Polish patriot. They say she herself is descended from a Russian princess who eloped with the Polish patriot, and I can believe it. There is something very unusual about her. She always makes me a little bit nervous, because one does get to associating Russians, especially those that run away with patriots, with bombs and things of that kind, but she is a wonderful dressmaker. I certainly think it would be wise to patronize her for Ina's trousseau, Anna.”
Anna laughed, and rather bitterly, again. “Well, dear, I have my doubts about our ability to patronize her,” she said, “and, granting that we could, you might in reality encounter the bomb as penalty.”
“Anna, dear, what—”
“Amy, don't you know that Madame Potoffsky simply will not give us any further credit?”
“Oh, Anna, do you think so?”