Mavis was no prude; but this request, coming on top of all she had learned from Miss Allen, fanned the embers of resentment against the conditions under which girls, helpless as she, worked.  The Marquis’s demand, the circumstances in which it was made, seemed part and parcel of a system of oppression, of which old Orgles’s sending dozens of girls “on the game,” who might otherwise have kept straight, was another portion.  The realisation of this fact awoke in Mavis a burning sense of injustice; it only needed a spark to cause an explosion.  This was not long in coming.  The Marquis examined the things that she set before him with critical eye; his eagerness to handle them did not prevent his often looking admiringly at Mavis, a proceeding that did not please “Madame the Marquise,” who felt resentful against Mavis for marring her transient triumph.  “Madame the Marquise” pouted and fretted, but without effect; when her “husband” presently put his mouth distressingly near Mavis’s ear, “Madame’s” feelings got the better of her; she put her foot, with some violence, upon the Marquis’s most sensitive corn, at which it was as much as Mavis could do to stop herself from laughing.  All might then have been well, had not the Marquis presently asked Mavis to put her bare arm into one of the open worked garments in order that he might critically examine the effect.  In a moment, Mavis was ablaze with indignation; her lips tightened.  The man repeated his request, but he may as well have talked to the moon so far as Mavis was concerned.  The girl felt that, if only she resisted this unreasonable demand, it would be an act of rebellion against the conditions of the girls’ lives at “Dawes’”; she was sure that only good would come of her action, and that He, who would not see a sparrow fall to the ground without caring, would aid her in her single-handed struggle against infamous oppression.

“I am sorry, sir; but I cannot.”

“Cannot?”

“No, sir.”

“Anything wrong with your plump, pretty arm?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why not do as I wish?”

“Because—­because it isn’t right, sir.”

“Eh!”

The man stared at Mavis, who looked him steadfastly in the eyes.  In his heart of hearts, he respected her scruples; he also admired her spirit.  But for “Madame the Marquise,” nothing more would have been said, but this young person was destined to be an instrument of the fates that ruled Mavis’s life.  This chit was already resentful against the strangely beautiful, self-possessed shop-girl; Mavis’s objection to the Marquis’s request was in the nature of a reflection on “Madame the Marquise’s” mode of life.  She took her lover aside and urged him to report to the management Mavis’s obstinacy; he resisted, wavered, surrendered.  Mavis saw the Marquis speak to a shopman, of whom he seemed to be asking her name; he was then conducted upstairs to Mr Orgles’s office, from which he issued, a few minutes later, to be bowed obsequiously downstairs by the man he had been to see.  The Marquis joined “Madame the Marquise” (who, while waiting, had looked consciously self-possessed), completed his purchases, and left the shop.