The saleswoman's amazement increased; words failed her entirely, and to cover her embarrassment she opened the screen at the back of the window and took out the grey gown. Flamby's eyes sparkled.
"But isn't it sweet," she whispered. "Where do I go to try it on?"
"This way, madam," said the woman, darting an imploring glance at Don to which he was unable to respond as Flamby was looking in his direction.
Flamby disappeared into a fitting-room and Don sat down to consider the question of how far he could hope to pursue his plot without being unmasked.
He lighted a cigarette and gave himself up to reflection on the point. When presently Flamby came out, radiant, followed by the troubled attendant carrying the grey gown, he was prepared for her.
"I'm going to have it!" she said. "Am I frightfully extravagant?"
"Not at all," Don assured her; and as she took out her purse. "No," he added, "you must not pay cash, Flamby. It would confuse Nevin's books. I will write a cheque and charge it to your account together with the other purchases."
He withdrew with the saleswoman, leaving Flamby seated looking at the velvet frock draped across a chair. Having proceeded to a discreet distance—"What is the price of the dress, please?" he asked.
"With the alterations which madam requires, eighteen guineas, sir."
"I will give you a draft on Uncle Cox," replied Don, taking out his cheque-book and fountain-pen. "You must feel rather bewildered, but the fact of the matter is that the lady chances to be the orphan of a very dear friend, and coming from a country place she has no idea of the cost of things. I would not disillusion her for the world, just yet. Will you please make a note to send the gown to Miss Duveen at this address." He laid one of his aunt's cards upon the table. "But—an important point—enclose no receipt; nothing that would afford a clue to the price. Will you remember?"