She passed brilliantly lighted restaurants where people
were having tea, some of them at little tables out of doors, protected
by glass screens; and as she walked, people stared at her a good deal,
especially the men who were with the lovely ladies; and the bored look
went out of their eyes. Mary noticed that she was stared at, and was
uncomfortable, because she imagined that her gray tweed and travelling
hat drew unfavourable attention.
But she intended to change all this. She would soon be as well dressed
as anybody, and no one would stare any more. In one window there were
displayed, not only gowns, but hats and cloaks, and exquisite furs, all
shown on wax models with fashionably dressed hair and coquettish faces.
One pink and white creature with a startlingly perfect figure wore a
filmy robe of that intense indigo just taken on by the sea. Underneath a
shadowlike tunic of dark blue chiffon there was a glint of pale gold, a
sort of gold and silver sheath which encased the form of the waxen lady.
"My hair is that colour," Mary thought, and imagined herself in the
dress. The next thing was to walk in and ask a very agreeable
Frenchwoman if the gown were likely to fit her without alteration. "I
must have something at once," Mary explained. "My luggage has gone to
Italy."
The agreeable Frenchwoman was sympathetic. But yes, the dress would fit
to perfection, not a doubt of it, for Mademoiselle had the ideal figure
for model robes. And if, unfortunately, the trunks had all gone,
Mademoiselle would want not only one dress but several? And hats? Yes,
naturally.
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