Dianas whose lines are more lathe than lithe, you
can't work up much enthusiasm about exercising for the pure joy of it.
Myra had never used a tennis-racket in her life, but daily she outfitted
for the sport bronzed young ladies who packed a nasty back-hand wallop
in their right. She wore (and was justly proud of) a 4-A shoe, and took
a good deal of comfort in the fact as she sold 7-Cs at $22.50 a pair to
behemothian damsels who possessed money in proportion to Myra's beauty.
Myra was the only girl in her section who never tried to dress in
imitation of the moneyed ones whom she served. The other girls were wont
to wear severely tailored shirts, mannish ties, stocks, flat-heeled
shoes, rough tweed skirts. Not so Myra. That delicate cup-like hollow at
the base of her white throat was fittingly framed in a ruffle of frilly
georgette. She did her hair in soft undulations that flowed away from
forehead and temple, and she powdered her nose a hundred times a day.
Her little shoes were high-heeled and her hands were miraculously white,
and if you prefer Rosalind to Viola you'd better quit her now.

"Anybody who wants to wear those cross-country clothes is welcome to
them," she said. "I'm a girl and I'm satisfied to be. I don't see why I
should wear a hard-boiled shirt and a necktie any more than a man should
wear a pink georgette trimmed with filet. By the end of the week, when
I've spent six solid days selling men's clothes to women, I feel's if
I'd die happy if I could take a milk bath and put on white satin and
pearls and a train six yards long from the shoulders--_you_ know."

Not the least of Myra's charm was a certain unexpected and pleasing
humour. It was as though, on opening a chocolate box, you were to find
it contained caviar.

Of course by now you know that Myra is the girl you used to see smiling
out at you from the Inverness & Heath catalogue entitled Sportswomen's
Apparel. The head of her department had soon discovered that Myra,
posing for illustrations to be used in the spring booklet, raised that
pamphlet's selling power about 100 per cent. Sunburned misses, with
wind-ravaged complexions, gazing at the picture of Myra, cool, slim,
luscious-looking, saw themselves as they would fain be--and bought the
Knollwood sweater depicted--in silk or wool--putty, maize, navy, rose,
copen, or white--$35. Myra posed in paddock coat and breeches--she who
had never been nearer a horse than the distance between sidewalk an