Cornelia smothered a sob of rage. After a pause, she informed Janet that Mrs. R. H. L. Jerome, her most valued customer, had made an appointment that morning to look at some frocks and gowns. This lady had a single hobby, clothes; and she spent an appreciable fraction of her untold millions ("she’s divorced two multimillionaires, Araminta, and driven a third into the diplomatic service!") on this hobby. She had expressed profound dissatisfaction with Paulette’s offerings on her last visit two weeks ago. It was therefore of prime importance to please her this time. "I want you to be in the salon with me when she looks at the models," said Cornelia. "She’s extremely susceptible to flattery. As the head of the house, I can’t very well lay it on too thick, can I? I have a feeling that your presence will make the sales go smoothly." "You’d better leave me out of it, Cornelia. I never sold a thing in my life. Why, I couldn’t sell a sandwich to a starving man." "_I’ll_ do the _selling_, my dear. I simply ask you to be on hand. The fact is, you have a peculiar influence over people. When they get to talking with you, they suddenly forget about _things_—the earth-earthy things by which we are all so obsessed nowadays—they appear to forget about things and begin to occupy themselves with thoughts and dreams. In that condition, a man or woman will buy anything." "Cornelia, you’ll admit that I’ve done all sorts of odd jobs for you without a murmur. But I really don’t like to bamboozle anybody into—" "Bamboozle! Araminta! No one who buys a Paulette frock is bamboozled. Be quite clear about that." She added, less belligerently, that Mrs. Jerome, though so very rich, had no taste in clothes. Or, more bluntly, had a most execrable taste. She went in for suffrage, feminism, woman’s rights, and all that sort of thing. (Here Janet pricked up her ears.) So you might know what to expect. She was, in short, faddy and temperamental. Her purchases were made or not made, as the case might be, because the seller pleased or displeased her. The articles themselves were of quite secondary importance. "Forgive my curiosity, Cornelia. But you have regiments of customers. Why are you so anxious about just this one?" "What a question, you babe in the wood! Don’t you know who Mrs. Jerome is?" "I know she’s rich and that Mr. Pryor had something to do with her coming here." "That’s not it, child. She’s the American mother of the Duchess of Keswick. And the Duchess— Well, it’s Madge and Mary between her and the Queen of England. Think, Araminta, what a feather in our cap, if we get the patronage of the Duchess of Keswick, and a Paulette frock is worn at the Court of St. James! It’s the chance of a lifetime. You won’t disappoint me, dear?" "No. We’ll make it Madge and Paulette and Mary. When is this dowager Mrs. Jerome expected?"