Then came the
gown once more, over the new stays this time. The effect
was magical. The Irish-crocheted saleswoman and I
clasped hands and fell back in attitudes of admiration.
Frau Nirlanger turned this way and that before the long
mirror and chattered like a pleased child. Her
adjectives grew into words of six syllables. She cooed
over the soft-shining stuff in little broken exclamations
in French and German.
Then came a straight and simple street suit of blue
cloth, a lingerie gown of white, hats, shoes and even a
couple of limp satin petticoats. The day was gone before
we could finish.
I bullied them into promising the pinky-gray gown for
the next afternoon.
"Sooch funs!" giggled Frau Nirlanger, "and how it
makes one tired. So kind you were, to take this trouble
for me. Me, I could never have warred with that Fraulein
who served us--so haughty she was, nicht? But it is good
again pretty clothes to have. Pretty gowns I lofe--you
also, not?"
"Indeed I do lofe 'em. But my money comes to me in
a yellow pay envelope, and it is spent before it reaches
me, as a rule. It doesn't leave much of a margin for
general recklessness."
A tiny sigh came from Frau Nirlanger.
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