VIII

FOILED AGAIN

The next morning Mrs. Budlong arose from dreams of finding bargains
after all. She felt a spirit in her feet that led her, who knows
how, to the Christmas-window street. But the crowds and the prices
and the servility of the salesfolk drove her out again.

On her laggard way home she saw Sally Swezey, lean and lanky and
somehow reminding her of a flamingo. Sally espied her from afar and
stepped a little higher. Mrs. Budlong remembered her husband's
suggestion. She made a quick resolution to do or die. Her cheek was
cold and white and her heart beat loud and fast, but she tried to set
her double chin into a square jaw, and she passed Sally Swezey as if
Sally Swezey were a lamp-post by the curb--a common lamp-post by the
curb, and nothing more.

She heard Sally's gush of greeting stop short as if someone had
turned a faucet in her throat; she heard a gulp; then she heard a
strangled silence. Then she heard Sally call her name tentatively,
tenderly, reproachfully. Then she heard no more. And she knew no
more till her feet somehow carried her home. But she had hardly time
to flop into a rocker and utter a prayer of gratitude and pride for
having been vouchsafed the courage to snub a Carthaginian before
Br-r-rr!--the relentless telephone was on her trail. She knew just
who it was and she braced herself to meet one of Sally's
sharp-tongued assaults. But Sally said--in part:

"Oh, you poor darling dear, is that you? and how are you now? I was