“Here, Mrs. Zarubkin.”
She turned the pages, looked at one picture after the other, and suddenly her eyes shone and her cheeks reddened.
“Oh, Empire! The very thing. Empire is the very latest. Make this one for me,” she cried commandingly.
Abramka turned pale.
“Ampeer, Mrs. Zarubkin? I can’t make that Ampeer dress for you,” he murmured.
“Why not?” asked the captain’s wife, giving him a searching look.
“Because—because—I can’t.”
“Oh—h—h, you can’t? You know why you can’t. Because that is the style of Mrs. Shaldin’s dress. So that is the reliability you boast so about? Great!”
“Mrs. Zarubkin, I will make any other dress you choose, but it is absolutely impossible for me to make this one.”
“I don’t need your fashion plates, do you hear me? Get out of here, and don’t ever show your face again.”