“But it is not on the market,” replied Beatriz.  “I told you I had decided to live there.  I hoped—­you would like to go with me.  For awhile, at least, you might find it interesting.”

Elizabeth tried to dissuade her.  It was ridiculous.  It was monstrous.  She was not strong enough.  It would be throwing her life away, as surely as to transplant a tender orchid to that burning sage-brush country.  But in the end she said:  “Well, Bee, then I’ll go with you.”

CHAPTER XXIX

BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE

The Mayor of Weatherbee stopped his new, six-passenger car at the curb in front of the completed brick block; not at the corner which was occupied by the Merchants’ National Bank, but at the adjoining entrance, above which shone the neat gilt sign:  “Madame Lucile’s.”  He stood for a moment surveying the window display, which was exceedingly up-to-date, showing the prevailing color scheme of green or cerise in the millinery, softened by a background of mauve and taupe in the arrangement of the gowns.  A card, placed unobtrusively in the corner of the plate glass, announced that Madame Lucile, formerly with Sedgewick-Wilson of Seattle, was prepared to give personal attention to all orders.

Bailey himself that day was equipped in a well-made suit from the tailoring establishment on the opposite side of the building.  Though he had not yet gathered that avoirdupois which is associated with the dignity of office, there was in his square young frame an undeniable promise.  Already he carried himself with the deliberation of a man whose future is assured, and his mouth took those upward curves of one who is humorously satisfied with himself and his world.

There were no customers when he entered, and since it was the hour when her assistant was out at lunch, Madame, attired in a gown of dark blue velvet, her black hair arranged with elaborate care, was alone in the shop.  And Bailey’s glance, having traveled the length of the soft green carpet to the farthest mirror, returned in final approval to her.  “This certainly is swell,” he said, “It’s like a sample right out of Chicago.  But I knew you could do it, the minute Mrs. Banks mentioned you.  Why, the first time I saw you—­it was on the street the day I struck Wenatchee—­I told myself:  ’This town can’t be very wild and woolly if it can turn out anything as classy as that.’”

Madame laughed.  “I must have looked like a moving fashion plate to attract attention that way.  I feel a little over-dressed now, after wearing the uniform in Sedgewick-Wilson’s so long; but Mrs. Banks said I ought to wear nice clothes to advertise the store.”

Bailey tipped back his head at that, laughing softly.  “I guess your silent partner is going to be the power behind the throne, all right.”

Madame nodded, with the humor still lingering in her brown eyes.  “But it was good advice.  I sold a gown like this to my first customer this morning.  And she had only come in to see millinery; she hadn’t meant to look at gowns.  But she liked this one the moment she saw it.”