Win’s ears were burning as if they had been tweaked.  The minutes were passing.  She could ask no help, no information concerning her duties.  If she put a question as to what she was to do she would be snubbed, or worse.  Could the far-away and almost omnipotent Mr. Meggison have had secret knowledge of this lion’s den into which he had thrown her?  He had said the bargain square and the two-hours’ sale would be a test of character.  At this rate, she would fail ignominiously, and she did not want to fail.  But neither did she want the beautiful Jewess to fail.  Her anxiety was not all selfish.  “A test of character!” Was there nothing, nothing she could do for her own and the general good?

Suddenly her spirit flew back to the ship.  Peter Rolls’s face came before her.  She saw his good blue eyes.  She heard him say:  “If ever I can help—–­”

How odd!  Why should she have thought of him then?  And no one could help, least of all he, who had probably forgotten all about her by this time, Miss Rolls having spoiled his horrid, deceitful game.  She must help herself Yet it was just as if Peter had come and suggested an idea—­really quite a good idea, if only she had the courage to interrupt Miss Stein.

She and Peter had chatted one night on B deck about the Russian dancers and Leon Bakst’s designs.  She had lectured Peter on the amazing beauty of strangely combined colours, mixtures which would not have been tolerated before the “Russian craze.”  Now Peter seemed to be reminding her of what she had said then, a silly little boast she had made, that with “nothing but a few rags and a Bakst inspiration” she could put together a gorgeous costume for a fancy-dress ball.

“When you want to set up for a rival to Nadine, I’ll back you,” Peter had retorted, and they had both laughed.

Now, with the immense but impersonal “backing” of Peter Rolls, Sr.’s, great shop, she had the Bakst inspiration and the tingling ambition to set up (in a very small way) as a rival to Nadine.

“I beg your pardon,” she stammered to Miss Stein, and hastened on as a fierce, astonished look was fastened upon her from under a black cloud of stormy brow.  “I—­I hope you’ll excuse my interrupting, but I’ve been a model of Nadine’s, and—­and I have an idea, if you’ll allow me—­I mean, you don’t seem to like these things we have to sell.  I believe we could make something of them if we hurried.”

All through she had the feeling that if she could not hold Miss Stein’s eyes until she had compelled interest, hope was lost.  She put her whole self into the effort to hold the eyes, and she held them, talking fast, pouring the magnetic force of her enthusiasm into the angry, unhappy soul of the other.

“What do you mean?” asked Miss Stein, abruptly taking the sharp, judicial air of the business woman.  Half resentful, half contemptuous, she could not afford to let slip the shadow of a chance.