Too late to ask questions!  Her time had come.  The red-haired girl, looking prettier than before because of a bright flush on her sallow face, pranced away, head triumphantly up, and a key and a queer little book in her hand.

Before Win realized what was happening she stood before the big, lighted window, longing though not daring to rest her trembling elbows on the counter.  The cherubic yet keen blue eyes were staring into hers with the oddest expression she had ever seen.  If the man had not been an important official, far above her (he would have thought) in position, Win might have fancied that he was afraid of her, afraid of something which he half expected, half dreaded, wishing to avert it, yet likely to be mortified if it did not come.

“I must be out of my mind,” she told herself, at the same time telling him that she desired an engagement as an extra hand.

“What references?” he inquired, with the mechanical intonation of one who has put the same question thousands of times.

“I—­haven’t any,” stammered Win.  “I’m lately over from England—–­”

“You don’t need to mention that,” broke in the superintendent.  “I know London.  Have you worked in any of the big department stores there—­Harrods’ or Selfridge’s?” He looked, Win thought (clinging to a straw of hope), as if he were not unwilling to help her.

“No, none.  I was a model for Nadine.  I’m quick at doing figures—–­”

“The figures that models cut are more to the point, I guess!” The cherub Mephistopheles smiled at this joke and did not seem to care just then that his every extra word kept the procession back an extra instant.  “We’re not wanting models at present.  But if you’ve had any experience as a saleslady—­you look all right—­well, see here, I’ll try and give you a chance.  It’s up to you to make good, though.  What money do you want?  Write it down.”

He indicated one of those forms which Win had seen.  She hesitated, then felt that the blue eyes were watching her keenly.  Hesitation was not the way to succeed in this home of hustle.  She remembered that the red-haired girl, though she must have had experience or she would not have possessed references, had said something about eight dollars.  “I’ll say seven,” Win told herself, and wrote accordingly on the paper.

“We can’t pay seven dollars per week to a girl without experience,” pronounced the superintendent promptly.  “If you want to take six, I’ll give you a test of character.  You ought to be thankful for six.  By and by you may work up into one of the departments where we pay commissions.”

“I’ll take six,” Win said.

Though already she knew something of the expense of living in New York, six dollars a week certainly seemed generous compared with shop-girls’ wages at home.  She had been told that there they got only twelve or fourteen shillings, and sometimes less.  Of course, in England, you “lived in.”  Win had heard that expression, and was aware of its meaning.  She was not yet quite sure what you did in America, for she had talked to none of her very few acquaintances about the need she had to look for work in a department store.  There was only one thing she did know in that connection:  it would be unwise to ask Father questions.