Her next attempt was to dispose of some of her dress designs, and since she had become familiar at Miss Champion’s with the names of certain firms who were willing to buy such creations, she knew where to find a possible market. It seemed wiser to call in person than to send the designs by post, and she spent a whole day trying to interview responsible persons in West End establishments. One firm rebuffed her with the frank statement that they were over-supplied with such creations. At two other places she was told to leave her designs to be looked at. At her last attempt she succeeded in obtaining an interview with a hungry-looking and ill-tempered elderly woman who was writing letters in a little glass-panelled office at the back of a big shop. Eve disliked the woman from the first glance, but she was grateful to her for having taken the trouble to give her an interview. “I wondered whether Messrs. Smith might have any use for designs for new spring and summer frocks?” The woman looked at her from under cunning eyelids. “Sit down. Let me see.” Eve unwrapped the drawings and handed them to the person in authority, who glanced through them as though she were shuffling a pack of cards. “Had any technical training? Not much, I think.” “I have lived in Paris.” “That’s an excuse, I suppose. There are one or two possible ideas here. Leave the designs. I’ll consider them.” She laid them down on her desk and looked at Eve in a way that told her that she was expected to go. “I had better leave my address.” “Isn’t it on the cards?” “No!” “Then write it.” She pushed a pen and ink towards Eve, and turned to resume the work that had been interrupted. When Eve had gone, the good lady picked up the designs, looked them carefully through, and then pushed the button of a bell in the wall behind her. A flurried young woman with a snub nose, and untidy yellow hair, came in. “Here, Miss Rush, copy those two. Then pack them all up and send them back to the address written on that one. Say we’ve looked at them, and that none are suitable.” The snub-nosed young woman understood, and two of Eve’s designs were appropriated, at a cost to Messrs. Smith of twopence for postage. That was good business. The whole batch was returned to Eve in the course of three days, with a laconic type-written statement that the designs had received careful consideration, but had been found to be unsuitable. She had not seen Mr. Parfit since the loss of her secretaryship, in fact, not since Christmas, the morning walks to Highbury Corner having become unnecessary. On the afternoon of the second Saturday in January, Eve happened to be standing at her window, dressed to go out, when she saw him strolling along the path on the other side of the road. He glanced at her window as he passed, and, turning when he had gone some thirty yards, came slowly back again.