this, he explained, was only a nominal stipend, as a starter.  Before very long he would be president of the company.  His hobby was inventing things.  So far he had not made enough by his brain to purchase a collar button, but ideas were coming thick and fast, and he was convinced that the day was not far distant when he would make a great fortune.  That is why, all things considered, he believed himself, despite his obscure origin and lack of education, a desirable match for the proudest girl in the land.

“Fanny!  Where’s my tape measure?  I can’t find my tape measure.”

Once more Mrs. Blaine laid down her work and began to rummage among the mass of chiffons and laces piled up before her.  In the shop outside she could hear her daughter laughing and talking.  Impatiently the widow called out: 

“Can’t you come and help me, Fanny?  Who are you talking to?”

“It’s Mr. Gillie, mother,” came the answer.  “He’s helping me close the store.”

A look of anxiety crossed Mrs. Blaine’s face.  It went against the grain to entertain a person like Mr. Gillie, but for her child’s sake she said nothing, and when he called, as he had done very frequently recently, she had tried to receive him as cordially as possible.  But to-night she was very tired.  At times she felt dizzy and faint.  His interminable chatter and boasting would only weary her more.  So, hoping the visitor would take the hint, she called out again: 

“Isn’t Virginia home yet?  It’s getting very late.”

“She couldn’t be here yet,” called out Fanny.  “The concert’s not over till ten.  We’ve all closed up now.  I’m coming right in.”

A moment later the young girl appeared, followed more leisurely by Mr. Gillie.

The shipping clerk entered jauntily, a lighted cigar in his mouth, full of self-assurance.  He wore a check suit much too small for him, a pink tie, and patent-leather shoes.  Fanny’s face was red and her manner somewhat flustered, but this the mother, bent low over her work, did not notice.

“Good evening, m’m,” said Mr. Gillie, coolly seating himself without waiting to be asked.  Sitting back, crossing his legs and carelessly flecking his cigar ash on the floor, he added in patronizing tones:  “How’s the world using you?”

“Good evening, Mr. Gillie,” returned the widow graciously.  “How are you?”

“Oh, fairly well to middlin’.”  Glancing at the littered table, he said:  “Still busy on the graduation dress, I see.”

Mrs. Blaine sighed wearily.

“Yes—­it’s taking me longer than I bargained for.  Sometimes I feel very tired.  I wish Virginia was here to try it on.”

Fanny glanced at the clock.  With a quick, significant look at Mr. Gillie, she said quickly: 

“She’ll be here any moment now.  The concert is usually out by this time.”  There was an awkward pause and then she stammered:  “Mr. Gillie has something to say to you, mother.”