work.

She was conscious of the man saying something about her consulting
Mrs Goss before thinking of going there; but she did not give this
aspect of the matter another moment's thought.

"What name shall I ask for?" asked Mavis.

"Mr Orgles, if you go."

"Thank you so much. May I mention your name?"

"If you decide to go there, certainly."

Mavis thanked him and was gone. She, at once, made for Dawes'. The
girl knew exactly where it was, its name and situation being a
household word to women living in London. Arrived there, she glanced
appealingly at the splendid plate-glass windows, as if beseeching
them to mitigate some of their aloofness. She approached one of the
glass doors, which was opened by a gorgeously attired official. When
inside, she looked about her curiously, fearfully. She was in a long
room, down either side of which ran a counter, behind which were
stationed young women, who bore themselves with a self-conscious,
would-be queenly mien. The space between the counters, to which the
public was admitted, was promenaded by frock-coated men, who piloted
inexperienced customers to where they might satisfy their respective
wants. One of these shop-walkers approached Mavis.

"Where can I direct you, madam?"