“For seven hundred francs,” she heard the suave voice saying. _Seven hundred francs_! Virginia's national pride, or, more accurately, her national rage, was lashed into action. It was with very red cheeks that the small American stepped stormily to the rescue of her countryman. “Seven hundred francs for _that_?” she jeered, right in the face of the enraged manager and stiffening clerks. “Seven hundred francs--indeed! Last year's model--a hideous colour, and “--picking it up, running it through her fingers and tossing it contemptuously aside--“abominable stuff!” “Gee, but I'm grateful to you!” he breathed, again wiping his brow. “You know, I was a little leery of it myself.” The manager, quivering with rage and glaring uglily, stepped up to Virginia. “May I ask--?” But the fat man stepped in between--he was well qualified for that position. “Cut it out, partner. The young lady's a friend of _mine_--see? She's looking out for me--not you. I don't want your stuff, anyway.” And taking Virginia serenely by the arm he walked away. “This was no place to buy dresses,” said she crossly. “Well, I wish I knew where the places _were_ to buy things,” he replied, humbly, forlornly. “Well, what do you want to buy?” demanded she, still crossly. “Why, I want to buy some nice things for my wife. Something the real thing from Paris, you know. I came over from London on purpose. But Lord,”--again wiping his brow--“a fellow doesn't know where to _go_.” “Oh well,” sighed Virginia, long-sufferingly, “I see I'll just have to take you. There doesn't seem any way out of it. It's evident you can't go _alone_. _Seven hundred francs_!” “I suppose it was too much,” he conceded meekly. “I tell you I _will_ be grateful if you'll just stay by me a little while. I never felt so up against it in all my life.” “Now, a very nice thing to take one's wife from Paris,” began Virginia didactically, when they reached the sidewalk, “is lace.” “L--ace? Um! Y--es, I suppose lace is all right. Still it never struck me there was anything so very _lively_ looking about lace.” “'Lively looking' is not the final word in wearing apparel,” pronounced Virginia in teacher-to-pupil manner. “Lace is always in good taste, never goes out of style, and all women care for it. I will take you to one of the lace shops.” “Very well,” acquiesced he, truly chastened. “Here, let's get in this cab.” Virginia rode across the Seine looking like one pondering the destinies of nations. Her companion turned several times to address her, but it would have been as easy for a soldier to slap a general on the back. Finally she turned to him. “Now when we get there,” she instructed, “don't seem at all interested in things. Act--oh, bored, you know, and seeming to want to get me away. And when they tell the price, no matter what they say, just--well sort of groan and hold your head and act as though you are absolutely overcome at the thought of such an outrage.”