Letty and Steptoe found themselves sitting on two of the gilded
chairs, unexpectedly alone. The other ladies had returned to their
tasks. Madame Simone had gone back to the place whence they had
summoned her. Nothing had happened. It seemed to be all over. They
waited.

"Ain't she goin' to show us nothin'?" Letty whispered anxiously. "They
always do."

Steptoe was puzzled but recommended patience. He couldn't think that
Madame could have begun so kindly, only to go off and leave them in
the lurch. It was not what he had looked for, any more than she; but
he had always found patient waiting advantageous.

Perhaps ten minutes had gone by when a new figure wandered toward
them. Strutted would perhaps be the better word, since she stepped
like a person for whom stepping means a calculation. She was about
Letty's height, and about Letty's figure. Moreover, she was pretty,
with that haughtiness of mien which turns prettiness to beauty. What
was most disconcerting was her coming straight toward Letty, and
standing in front of her to stare.

Letty colored to the eyes--her deep, damask flush. The insult was
worse than anything offered by Mrs. Courage; for Mrs. Courage after
all was only a servant, and this a young lady of distinction. Letty
had never seen anyone dressed with so much taste, not even the stars
as they came on the studio lot in their everyday costumes. Indignant
as she was she could appreciate this delicate seal-brown cloth, with
its bits of gold braid, and darling glimpses of sage-green wherever
the lining showed indiscreetly. The hat was a darling too, brown with
a feather between brown and green, the one color or the other
according as the wearer moved.

If it hadn't been for this cool insolence.... And then the young lady
deliberately swung on her heel, which was high, to move some five or
six yards away, where she stood with her back to them. It was a
darling back--with just enough gold braid to relieve the simplicity,
and the tiniest revelation of sage-green. Letty admired it the more
poignantly for its cold contempt of herself.

Steptoe was not often put out of countenance, but it seemed to have
happened now. "I _can't_ think," he murmured, as one who contemplates
the impossible, "that the French madam can 'ave been so civil to begin
with, just to go and make a guy of us."

"If all her customers is like this----" Letty began.

But the young lady of distinction turned again, stepping a few paces
t