standing, smiled a pleased but rather preoccupied smile. Her eyes roved toward the door. Emma McChesney, radiating good will and energy, went on: "Wait till you see our new samples! You'll buy a million dollars' worth. Just let me lead you to our new Walk-Easy bifurcated skirt. We call it the 'one-stepper's delight.'" She put a hand on Ella Sweeney's arm, preparatory to guiding her to the showrooms in the rear. But Miss Sweeney's strange reluctance grew into resolve. A blush, as real as it was unaccustomed, arose to her bepowdered cheeks. "Is—I—that is—Mr. Buck is in, I suppose?" "Mr. Buck? Oh, yes, he's in." Miss Sweeney's eyes sought the closed door across the hall. "Is that—his office?" Emma McChesney stiffened a little. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You have guessed it," she said crisply. "Mr. Buck's name is on the door, and you are looking at it." Miss Sweeney looked down, looked up, twiddled the chain about her neck. "You want to see Mr. Buck?" asked Emma McChesney quietly. Miss Sweeney simpered down at her glove-tips, fluttered her eyelids. "Well—yes—I—I—you see, I bought of him this year, and when you buy of a person, why, naturally, you——" "Naturally; I understand." She walked across the hall, threw open the door, and met T. A. Buck's glance coolly. "Mr. Buck, Miss Sweeney, of Des Moines, is here, and I'm sure you want to see her. This way, Miss Sweeney." Miss Sweeney, sidling, blushing, fluttering, teetered in. Emma McChesney, just before she closed the door, saw a little spasm cross Buck's face. It was gone so quickly, and a radiant smile sat there so reassuringly, that she wondered if she had not been mistaken, after all. He had advanced, hand outstretched, with: "Miss Sweeney! It—it's wonderful
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