“Poor woman,” thought Gabriella, “it must be hard for her to get people to tell her what they really think,” and she added exultantly while she went for the gowns:  “If I satisfy her now, I am saved with Madame!”

When she returned, with the green cloth in one hand and a charming lavender crêpe tea-gown in the other, she approached Mrs. Pletheridge with the manner of intelligent sympathy, of serene and smiling competence, which had made her so valuable to Madame as a saleswoman.  She had the air not only of seeking to please, but of knowing just how to go about the difficult matter of pleasing.  With the eye of an artist in dress, she analyzed Mrs. Pletheridge’s possibilities; and softening here and there her pronounced features, succeeded presently in producing a charming and harmonious whole.  By the time a dozen gowns were tried on and their available points discussed and criticised in detail, Mrs. Pletheridge had given the largest order ever received by the house, and was throwing out enthusiastic hints of an even greater munificence in the future.  She left at last in a thoroughly good humour not only with Dinard’s, but with her own rejuvenated attractions; and Gabriella, exhausted but triumphant, watched Agnes gather up the French models from chairs and sofas and carry them back to the obscurity of the closets.  In her heart there was both peace and rejoicing because her belief in life had been justified.  In spite of Madame, in spite of Miss Polly, in spite of experience, the day had proved that it was, after all, “good business” to be honest.  Though she was still in debt, though she was still compelled to scrimp and save over market bills, nevertheless she felt that her work had progressed beyond the experimental stages, and that her place at Dinard’s was secured until some better opening appeared.  For that morning at least she had made herself indispensable to Madame.  For years, she knew, Madame had striven fawningly for the exclusive patronage of Mrs. Pletheridge, and she, Gabriella, had attained it, without loss of pride or self-respect, by a few words of honest and sensible criticism.  She had applied her intelligence to the situation, and her intelligence had served Dinard’s more successfully than Madame’s duplicity had done.

At home she found Dr. French, who had just brought the delighted children back from their drive.  When she thanked him, she saw that there was a glow of pleasure in his rather delicate face, and that this glow lent an expression of ecstasy to his dark-gray eyes—­the eyes of a mystic and a dreamer.  “I wonder how he ever became a physician,” she thought.  “He is more like a priest—­like a priest of the Middle Ages.”  But aloud she only said:  “You have done them a world of good.  Fanny has got some of her colour back already, and that means an appetite for supper.”

“We had tea,” broke in Archibald, with enthusiasm, “but it was really milk, and we had cake, but it was really bread and butter.”  He looked so well and vigorous that Gabriella called the doctor’s attention to the animation in his face.  “If only he didn’t have to wear glasses,” she said.  “I’m so afraid it will interfere with his love of sports.  His ambition is to be captain of a football team and to write poetry.”