"The material doesn't matter a bit. It's a certain color I'm looking for, can't you understand?" said Nan peevishly. She held herself in and said again firmly in her natural voice: "A warm pearl grey." Nan was very tired. The late afternoon bustle of the department store and the atmosphere of perfumes and women's furs and breathedout air and the close smell of fabrics were almost unbearable. She had been shopping all afternoon so that her legs ached and she had a faint pain between her eyes. While the woman went off for a new box of gloves, Nan stared dully at the holly-wreathed sign above the counter: Do Your Christmas Shopping Early. Her eyes followed the wearisome curlicues of the gothic capitals. "Here you are, Miss," said the saleslady, with a desperate attempt at sprightliness in her voice. "That's it," said Nan. She found herself looking in the white face of the saleslady, itself a little like wrinkled kid. "Busy time this must be for you." "Busy! No time to breathe." "I don't see how you do it." "Don't think about it. Only way. Never think about things," said the saleslady, breathlessly writing out the slip. Nan found herself drifting down the aisle of the store, a package added to those under her arm and stuffed into her bag, among fat jostling women and angular women with disapproving lips and small tired women with saggy eyes; she glanced in the waxen face under slimy hair of a floorwalker, tried ineffectually to approach the notions counter and at last found herself looking at the clock beside the elevator. Half-past four, time to meet Fitzie at the tearoom. The elevator smelt of oil, heavy like castor oil. Was it her mother's voice, or some governess's out of her childhood: Now, Nancibel, if you can't be more ladylike you'll have to take some castor oil? How tired she was this afternoon. Silly to come shopping in the afternoon so near the Christmas season. Christmas comes but once a year. Let us laugh and have good cheer, La la dee dee, la la dee dee. Beyond nodding cherries in a grey woman's hat, the face of the elevator man, black face with an ivory grin, and his suave negro voice announcing: Mezzanine Floor: Ladies' and Misses' garments and imported lingerie, Ladies' and Misses' hats and footwear. Way back, please ... Second Floor: Men's and Boys' clothes, ready and custom made, sporting goods; Men's and Boys' haberdashery and footwear. Let the lady out, please ... Third Floor: House furnishings, rugs, verandah furniture and imported goods ... At the top floor Nan stumbled out of the elevator and had to sit down on the bench in front of it, she was so tired. She counted over the little packages on her lap. That's right, I haven't lost anything. "Nan, it's all fixed." Fitzie, in a red hat with a feather, popped out of the soggy mass of women in the elevator crisp and bristling with excitement. She sat down beside Nan on the bench.