London (England) -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
sinned against the code and perhaps only saved herself by the skin of
her teeth. These unkind exhibitions did not trouble her in the least.
The demeanour of the more serious and best-paid girls showed absolutely
no _arrière pensée_, and better than anybody else they knew what was
what in the real world. Gertrude Jackson, the honest soul of purity,
already adored her employer.
As these two were returning to the principal’s room the entrance-door
opened and Millicent Merrislate burst breathlessly in.
"How splendid!" exclaimed Gertrude.
She had sent a special message to Milly, and Milly for a sight of her
new mistress had got up and come to the office two hours earlier than
her official time. Lilian was amazed and very pleased. She remembered
that she had once spent at any rate one night of toil in perfect
friendliness with the queer, flat, cattish Millicent; and now she
insisted on Milly helping them to eat cakes in the sacred room. The
scene was idyllic. A little later Lilian, having arranged the details
of Gertrude’s temporary removal to Montpelier Square, announced that she
must go, on account of some important shopping. Gertrude, sternly
watchful against undue fatigue for Lilian, raised her eyebrows at the
mention of shopping, but Lilian reassured her. A taxi was fetched by
the flapper-of-all-work, and, noticing then for the first time that the
road repairs in the neighbourhood were all finished, and every trace of
them vanished, Lilian gave the driver an address in Piccadilly. Several
girls were watching her departure from the windows; her upward glance
caught them in the act, and the heads disappeared sharply within.
"They are all working for _me_!" she thought with complacency, and could
scarcely believe the wonderful thing.
V
Layette
The pride of her reception in Clifford Street wafted her easily up the
somewhat austere stairs of the first floor establishment in Piccadilly.
She had long been familiar with the face of the commissionaire, and the
brass signs, of this mysterious shop, but never till the leading word
attracted her eyes as she was driving from Montpelier Square to Clifford
Street had it occurred to her what the word signified. The deceiving
staircase led to splendid rooms, indicating that the renown of the
establishment could not be spurious. A bright and rosy young woman came
smilingly forward and gave Lilian a chair. One other customer, a stout
lady with her back to the world, was being served in a distant corner.
A marvellous calm reigned, and the noise of Piccadilly seemed to beat
vainly against the high, curtained windows.
"Layettes?" Lilian began questioningly, with a strange exultation. The
aspect of the interior had revived her taste for luxury while giving it
a new direction.
"Yes, madam."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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