She could not keep from worrying about him. “They'll just 'do' him,” she was sure. “And then laugh at him in the bargain. A man like that has no business to be let loose in a store all by himself.”
And sure enough, a half hour later she came upon him up in the dress department. Three of them had gathered round to “do” him. They were making rapid headway, their smiling deference scantily concealing their amused contempt. The spectacle infuriated Virginia. “They just think they can work us!” she stormed. “They think we're easy. I suppose they think he's a fool. I just wish they could get him in a business deal! I just wish—!”
“I can assure you, sir,” the English-speaking manager of the department was saying, “that this garment is a wonderful value. We are able to let you have it at so absurdly low a figure because—”
Virginia did not catch why it was they were able to let him have it at so absurdly low a figure, but she did see him wipe his brow and look helplessly around. “Poor thing,” she murmured, almost tenderly, “he doesn't know what to do. He just does need somebody to look after him.” She stood there looking at his back. He had a back a good deal like the back of her chum's father at home. Indeed there were various things about him suggested “home.” Did one want one's own jeered at? One might see crudities one's self, but was one going to have supercilious outsiders coughing those sham coughs behind their hypocritical hands?
“For seven hundred francs,” she heard the suave voice saying.
Seven hundred francs! Virginia's national pride, or, more accurately, her national rage, was lashed into action. It was with very red cheeks that the small American stepped stormily to the rescue of her countryman.
“Seven hundred francs for that?” she jeered, right in the face of the enraged manager and stiffening clerks. “Seven hundred francs—indeed! Last year's model—a hideous colour, and “—picking it up, running it through her fingers and tossing it contemptuously aside—“abominable stuff!”
“Gee, but I'm grateful to you!” he breathed, again wiping his brow. “You know, I was a little leery of it myself.”
The manager, quivering with rage and glaring uglily, stepped up to Virginia. “May I ask—?”
But the fat man stepped in between—he was well qualified for that position. “Cut it out, partner. The young lady's a friend of mine—see? She's looking out for me—not you. I don't want your stuff, anyway.” And taking Virginia serenely by the arm he walked away.