herself as a working woman. That garb might win his mental and
moral approval; but not by mental and moral ways did women and
men prevail with each other. In plain garb--so Jane decided, as
she inspected herself--she was no match for Selma Gordon; she
looked awkward, out of her element. So much being settled, there
remained to choose among her various toilets. She decided for an
embroidered white summer dress, extremely simple, but in the way
that costs beyond the power of any but the very rich to afford.
When she was ready to set forth, she had never looked so well in
her life. Her toilet SEEMED a mere detail. In fact, it was some
such subtlety as those arrangements of lines and colors in great
pictures, whereby the glance of the beholder is unconsciously
compelled toward the central figure, just as water in a funnel
must go toward the aperture at the bottom. Jane felt, not
without reason, that she had executed a stroke of genius. She
was wearing nothing that could awaken Victor Dorn's prejudices
about fine clothes, for he must have those prejudices. Yet she
was dressed in conformity with all that centuries, ages of
experience, have taught the dressmaking art on the subject of
feminine allure. And, when a woman feels that she is so dressed,
her natural allure becomes greatly enhanced.

She drove down to a point in Monroe Avenue not far from the house
where Victor and his family lived. The day was hot; boss-ridden
Remsen City had dusty and ragged streets and sidewalks. It,
therefore, would not do to endanger the freshness of the toilet.
But she would arrive as if she had come all the way on foot.
Arrival in a motor at so humble a house would look like
ostentation; also, if she were seen going through that street
afoot, people would think she was merely strolling a little out