“You must do this,” the screen star had insisted. “You must become accustomed to wearing these things. And you must wear them, you know. You couldn’t be Lorena LeMar without them.”
Jeanne had not objected in the least. The truth was, she loved fine clothes. And this was such a “darb” of a cape: midnight-blue satin trimmed with real white fox, the sort of thing that catches the eye of every passer-by; that causes them to turn and stare.
And to stroll on the boulevard as she had seen so many fine ladies do! Ah, that would be heavenly!
And it was all of that. One fact troubled her a little; she was alone. She would have felt better with a woman companion dressed as she was, or a gentleman in evening clothes and a high hat.
But then, Jeanne was at heart a gypsy. Gypsies are never afraid, nor do they mind being alone.
There are beautiful shops on the boulevard. The windows of Paris are not more gay than are those of our boulevards. Jeanne went window-shopping.
“Five hundred a week!” she whispered to herself. “Two weeks. A whole thousand dollars to spend as I please! No one shall say: ‘This is an inheritance. It belongs to the past and to the future.’ I shall spend it.
“But two weeks of being Lorena LeMar!” She sighed heavily. “It will be so difficult!
“Ah, well!” She drew the gorgeous cape about her, snuggled her head in the soft fur, and for the moment felt quite recompensed.
“I shall have that dress,” she told herself, stopping before a window. “Nile-green. The color suits me well.