There was something compelling in the ladylike look and behaviour of these two girls—and especially in Dorothy’s speech. At the moment, too, a hand was laid tentatively upon Mr. Schuman’s arm. “Beg pardon, sir,” said the full, resonant voice that Dorothy had noted the day before. “I know the young ladies—Miss Dale and Miss Travers, respectively, Mr. Schuman.” “Oh, Mr. Knapp—thank you!” said the old gentleman, turning to the tall young Westerner with whom he had been walking through the store at the moment he had spied the crowd. “You are a discourager of embarrassment.” “Oh! blessed ‘G. K.’!” whispered Tavia, weakly clinging to Dorothy’s arm. CHAPTER III TAVIA IN THE SHADE Mrs. Halbridge was slyly slipping through the crowd. She had suddenly lost all interest in the punishment of the girl she had accused of stealing her bag and her money. There was something so stern about Mr. Schuman that it was not strange that the excitable woman should fear further discussion of the matter. The old gentleman turned at once to Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers. “This is an unfortunate and regrettable incident, young ladies,” he said suavely. “I assure you that such things as this seldom occur under our roof.” “I am confident it is a single occurrence,” Dorothy said, with conviction, “or my aunt, Mrs. Winthrop White, of North Birchland, would not have traded with you for so many years.” “One of our charge customers, Mr. Schuman,” whispered Mr. Mink, deciding it was quite time now to come to the assistance of the girls. “Regrettable! Regrettable!” repeated the old gentleman. Here Tavia again entered her wailing protest: “I did not mean to take her bag from the counter. But somebody has taken my bag.” “Oh, Tavia!” exclaimed her friend, now startled into noticing what Tavia really said about it. “It’s gone!” wailed Tavia. “And all the money father sent me. Oh, dear, Doro Dale! I guess I _have_ thrown my money away, and, as you prophesied, it isn’t as much fun as I thought it might be.” “My dear young lady,” hastily inquired Mr. Schuman, “have you really lost your purse?” “My bag,” sobbed Tavia. “I laid it down while I examined some silk. That clerk saw me,” she added, pointing to the man behind the counter. “It is true, Mr. Schuman,” the silk clerk admitted, blushing painfully. “But, of course, I did not notice what became of the lady’s bag.” “Nor did I see the other bag until I found it in my hand,” Tavia cried. The crowd was dissipated by this time, and all spoke in low voices. Outside the counter was a cash-girl, a big-eyed and big-eared little thing, who was evidently listening curiously to the conversation. Mr. Mink said sharply to her: “Number forty-seven! do you know anything about this bag business?” “No—no, sir!” gasped the frightened girl. “Then go on about your business,” the floorwalker said, waving her away in his most lordly manner.