When Floy ran back to finish putting away the handkerchief boxes, several curious girls hastened to help her and to congratulate her on having made such a handsome sale to Mrs. Beresford.
“She’s as rich as cream and peaches—her husband has so many millions he can’t count ’em,” declared one, rashly.
“Her house is a marble palace on Fifth Avenue. We will go out with you to see it Sunday, if you like.”
“Didn’t she make you a present for returning her purse?” queried another curious one.
“Certainly not,” Floy answered, proudly.
“She wouldn’t take it. I saw her push Mrs. Beresford’s purse back with so queenly an air that the lady stared with surprise,” laughed Nell Jarley.
The girls all made great eyes of wonder, and one said that Floy should have taken the reward.
Floy only listened, and smiled like one in a sweet waking dream. She was charmed with the gracious beauty of her lover’s mother, and she thought, with tender pride:
“When I am his wife I will create as much sensation as she does when she comes here to shop.”
And just then one of her mates said, carelessly: