"It'll be charming, and is the dress finished, the blue satin? You will let me see it, won't you? I so love looking at lovely dresses the way I liked fairy tales when I was little. Even if I can't have them ..." "There's nothing very fabulous about this one." "O, you're so lucky, Nancibel, to be able to afford lovely dresses." Nan thought of the dresses of the women in the Fadettes, angular, with the restlessness of bargain counters, fussily trimmed. It's not the money, she told herself, it's knowing what to wear. "Is Mr. Macdougan back from Europe yet?" asked Fitzie with downcast eyes once they had settled themselves in the streetcar. "Yes, he's back," said Nan drily. The car ground rattling round a corner in the tunnel and climbed out into the shattered dusk of the street. Nan had a glimpse of lights among the trees of the Public Garden. She narrowed her eyes to see the people along the pavements moving dark against the filmy brightness of shopwindows. "Nancibel," said Fitzie after a pause, "I was so sorry about that ... when it happened." "When what happened?" "You know what I mean, dear ... Like Billy and me, you know." "How absurd. I was never engaged to Fanshaw. Can't you people understand that a man and a woman can be friends? All this sentimental tommyrot makes me furious." "It isn't that, dear. You shouldn't say such things, Nancibel, love is so beautiful." Nan did not answer. She was thinking of Wenny bursting into her room that spring morning, how the flame of him had frozen her into a helpless clicking automaton, and when he had gone she had watched him from the window rush across the street and all the rigid life had gone out of her so that she lay with her head on the windowledge and looked at the empty snowpiled street ... agony not beauty that was. Art Museum, called out the conductor. They alighted and walked slowly along past the pompous marble oblong of the dental clinic. "O, Nancibel, I'd forgotten to tell you," cried Fitzie, suddenly turning excitedly to Nan, "I've seen Mabel Worthington." "The girl from the Fadettes, your friend who eloped?" "Yes, and just imagine it, she's terribly successful." "What at?" "Why, I don't just know. She's living at the Vendome, just think of that. I think she's managing concert tours, and she's married and everything. Several of the girls have been to see her." "So she married the boy she eloped with? The Italian you said was so good looking." "No, she didn't ... That's what so queer. She's Mrs. Van Troppfer and her husband's a Dutchman." Nan burst out laughing. "How shriekingly funny." The Swansea: the gilt letters slanted down the glass door. They were in the elevator that had a familiar heavy oilsmell. Nan was still laughing. Under her laughter she was pleased to be getting back to her apartment. All afternoon she had looked forward to seeing how far her dress would be along.