squares. Nancy's imitation high-bred air and genuine dainty beauty
was what attracted. Many men thus came to display their graces
before her. Some of them may have been millionaires; others were
certainly no more than their sedulous apes. Nancy learned to
discriminate. There was a window at the end of the handkerchief
counter; and she could see the rows of vehicles waiting for the
shoppers in the street below. She looked and perceived that
automobiles differ as well as do their owners.

Once a fascinating gentleman bought four dozen handkerchiefs, and
wooed her across the counter with a King Cophetua air. When he had
gone one of the girls said:

"What's wrong, Nance, that you didn't warm up to that fellow. He
looks the swell article, all right, to me."

"Him?" said Nancy, with her coolest, sweetest, most impersonal, Van
Alstyne Fisher smile; "not for mine. I saw him drive up outside. A
12 H. P. machine and an Irish chauffeur! And you saw what kind of
handkerchiefs he bought--silk! And he's got dactylis on him. Give me
the real thing or nothing, if you please."

Two of the most "refined" women in the store--a forelady and a
cashier--had a few "swell gentlemen friends" with whom they now and
then dined. Once they included Nancy in an invitation. The dinner
took place in a spectacular cafe whose tables are engaged for New
Year's eve a year in advance. There were two "gentlemen friends"--one
without any hair on his head--high living ungrew it; and we can prove
it--the other a young man whose worth and sophistication he impressed
upon you in two convincing ways--he swore that all the wine was