“Something at about one-and-eleven, Miss,” said Mrs. Miller respectfully. “Not too quiet and not too loud, and something that’ll suit my features.”
Miss Bell, trembling oddly, went up the wooden steps and brought down a box containing black hats.
“Anything special, Miss, in the evening paper?” asked Mrs. Bat Miller ingratiatingly.
“Yes,” said Beatrice, panting.
“I of’en ’ave a look at the playcards,” said Mrs. Miller; “they give me about as much information as I want. Are these the newest shape in this box?”
“Look at the corner of the box,” said Miss Bell, endeavouring to regain her usual composure. “That’ll tell you, ‘Chapeaux de Paris.’”
“Sounds all right,” agreed Mrs. Miller. “I was saying to your young lady here that I’ve been making up my mind to take more trouble about me personal appearance. Otherwise, it’s likely enough Miller’ll be getting tired of me again, and then there’ll be more trouble. How would you advise me to have this trimmed, Miss, if it isn’t troubling you too much?”
Beatrice Bell gave advice in a hurried way as though pressed with more urgent affairs, and anxious to see her customer depart. Mrs. Miller did go, after reciting some more of her personal history; when she had gone Miss Bell took the evening paper from her waistbelt and sat down behind the counter. She had scarcely done so when the bell of the door rang and a tall young woman came in, dressed in a tailor-made costume, which caused ’Tilderann to gasp with admiration.
“Will you,” she said pleasantly to that amazed girl, “give the driver this half-crown and tell him not to wait?” She turned brightly to the young proprietress. “You are Miss Bell, are you not? My name is Mrs. Myddleton West.”
“One moment,” said Miss Bell trembling, “till the girl comes back, and we’ll go into the shop parlour.”