nrolled a yard or two from another bolt and
held it up.

"Is it for yourself, madam? Or for the other young lady?"

"It's for my sister. Let me hold this against your hair, Alma."

"It's not nearly so nice as the other, of course," observed Alma, in a
casual tone. "It's awfully stiff, and the color's sort of washed out.
I really think----"

"Oh, of course, this paler shade is not nearly so effective at night,"
agreed the saleswoman, pouncing keenly upon her prey. "See how
beautifully this deeper color brings out the gold in the young lady's
hair. Would you like to take it to the mirror, miss?"

"Oh, don't, Alma!" begged Nancy, in comical despair. "Of course there
isn't any comparison." She felt herself weakening. "I--I suppose this
would really wear better too."

"Of course it would," said Alma, quickly. "That other stuff is so
stiff it would split in no time."

Five times five-ninety-eight--thirty dollars. Nancy wrinkled her
forehead, but she knew that she had succumbed even before she announced
her surrender. The saleswoman, watching her, lynx-eyed, smiled. Alma
preened herself in front of the long mirror, frankly admiring herself,
with the soft, silken stuff draped around her shoulders.

"All right," said Nancy. "Give me five yards."

"Charged?" purred the saleswoman. But Nancy had no mind to have the
gray ghost of her extravagance revisit her on the first of the month.

"No, no! I'll pay for it, and take it with me." She counted out her
little roll of bills, trying not to notice the pitiable way in which
her purse shrank in, like the cheeks of a hungry man.

"Is there nothing you would like for yourself, madam?" murmured the
voice of the temptress. "Here is some ravishing charmeuse--the true
ashes-of-roses. With your dark hair and eyes----"

"Oh, no--no, thanks." Nancy clutched Alma, and turned her head away
from the shimmering, pearl-tinted fabric. For all her stiff
level-headedness, she was only human, and a girl with a healthy, ardent
longing for beautiful finery; prudent she was, but prudence soon
reaches its limits when the pressure of feminine vanity and exquisite
luxury is brought to bear upon it. There was only one course of
resistance. Nancy fled.

"Now, slippers." Alma skipped along beside her, hugging her precious
bundles, with shining eyes, and cheeks aglow. "I think I love slippers
better than anything in the world. Nancy, you're a perfect _lamb_."

They tried o