man creature could suffer, and all because of some
blouses, some sashes, and ladies' fancy neckwear, which certainly had
an unattractive appearance as they lay on the counters in confused
heaps.

"He says, 'it's up to you, Miss Stein!'" the quivering voice jerked
out in bitter mimicry. "Up to _me_, indeed! And he gives me this rag
bag!"

"It'll be nuts to _her_ if you're downed," remarked a girl with a
round, pink face.

"Don't you think I _know_ it?" Miss Stein demanded fiercely. Her eyes
filled with tears, which she angrily dried with a very dirty
handkerchief that looked strangely out of keeping in the manicured
hands. "There's nothing to do, or I'd do it, except to give him a
piece of my mind and throw up the job before they have the chance to
fire me."

"You wouldn't--just at this time!" cried the anemic girl.

"Wouldn't I? You'll see. I don't care a tinker's curse what becomes of
me after to-day."

Win's ears were burning as if they had been tweaked. The minutes were
passing. She could ask no help, no information concerning her duties.
If she put a question as to what she was to do she would be snubbed,
or worse. Could the far-away and almost omnipotent Mr. Meggison have
had secret knowledge of this lion's den into which he had thrown her?
He had said the bargain square and the two-hours' sale would be a test
of character. At this rate, she would fail ignominiously, and she did
not want to fail. But neither did she want the beautiful Jewess to
fail. Her anxiety was not all selfish. "A test of character!" Was
there nothing, _nothing_ she could do for her own and the general
good?

Suddenly her spirit flew back to the ship. Peter Rolls's face came
before her. She saw his good blue eyes. She heard him say: "If ever I
can help---"

How odd! Why should she have thought of him then? And no one could
help, least of all he, who had probably forgotten all about her by
this time, Miss Rolls having spoiled his horrid, deceitful game. She
must help herself Yet it was just as if Peter had come and suggested
an idea--really quite a good idea, if only she had the courage to
interrupt Miss Stein.

She and Peter had chatted one night on B deck about the Russian
dancers and Leon Bakst's designs. She had lectured Peter on the
amazing beauty of strangely combined colours, mixtures which would not
have been tolerated before the "Russian craze." Now Peter seemed to be
reminding her of what she had said then, a silly littl