nd began to
speak. Her tone was honey, and her words were soft, but the meaning
thereof was plain. "You don't find a hat that suits you, don't you?...
Did you imagine that you would?... Look in that glass, and see yourself
as you are!--I have here the best selection of models in town, and if
you are not satisfied, it is your taste that is to blame, not mine. I
do not employ a staff of assistants to have their time wasted by the
like of you. Out of this shop you do not go until you have paid the
price! Make your choice, and be quick about it."

Mary made no attempt to rebel; she knew too well that she was beaten.
She bought the least exaggerated of the models, paid down a cool four
guineas, and emerged into the freshness of the outer air with the
feeling of one escaping from a noisome animal. Never in her life had
she beheld a woman so repellent, so terrible. She thought of the fate
of the young girls who were caged up with her all day long, and
shivered. She wondered of what fibre were those other women, through
whose patronage such a harpy lived and prospered. She hoped, for the
credit of the sex, that the majority of customers were casuals, like
herself!

For the next hour Mary wandered to and fro, finding interest in the
study of shop windows. At first she made her pauses in tentative
fashion, for she had heard lurid stories of the dangers of London
streets, and went in fear of a tall, gentlemanly-looking individual who
would suddenly appear out of space, and whisper in her ear, requesting
to be allowed to buy her a dress, or a blouse. Such incidents had
happened to girls of her acquaintance; she distinctly remembered the
horror and perturbation with which they had related the details, but it
appeared that there was no such molestation to be expected in her case.
She remained as unnoticed as in the dining-room of the hotel.

At four o'clock she retired into a confectioner's shop, and refreshed
herself by a daintily served tea. The room was empty, but as time went
on the scattered tables filled up one by one, mostly with young couples,
the men tall and immaculately groomed, but far from manly in expression;
the girls attractive, despite their handicap of fashionable garments, in
an age when grace is a forgotten joy. They looked a different race from
the girls who paced daily up and down the Chumley High Street, and Mary,
beholding them, felt a dawning of interest in her four-guinea hat. It
was at lea