At last the man lifted his head in his quick, imperious way, asking, as he turned toward her, “What is your business with me, madam?”

“I like your store very much,” Belle remarked quietly.

Mr. Schriven now really glanced at her, and he found her brilliant black eyes and fair flushed face such pleasing objects of contemplation that he was content to look for a moment while he puzzled a little over the unexpected apparition.  He then smiled satirically and said, “What follows from so momentous a fact?”

“It follows that I would rather be employed here than in other stores that I do not like so well.  My mother and I have visited nearly every one, and I like yours best.”

“Well, this is cool.  You and your mother were refused employment at this season at all the others, were you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And my foreman declined your services here, also, did he not?”

“Yes, sir, but I was sure that if I saw you I should obtain my wish.  There’s a life and snap about this place that I didn’t see elsewhere, and therefore I knew a live man, and not a machine, was back of it, and that if I could see and talk with him he’d give me a chance.”

“You are exceedingly flattering,” said the man, with another satirical smile.  “Has it not occurred to you that your course is just tinged with assurance?”

“Have I said or done anything unbecoming a lady?” asked Belle indignantly.

Mr. Schriven laughed good-naturedly, for Belle’s snapping eyes and brusque ways were beginning to interest him.  “Oh, I forgot that you American working-women are all ladies.  I am told that you speak of certain of your number as ‘scrub-ladies’ and ‘washer-ladies.’”

“You may call me a shop-girl, sir, as soon as I am in your employ.”

“And why not now?”

“Because I’m not yet a shop-girl, and never have been one.  I’ve often bought goods with my mother in this very store, and I come from as good blood as there is in the South.  A few months ago my social position was as good as yours, and now that we have been unfortunate and I must work, I see no presumption in asking you to your face for honest work.”

“Not at all, my dear young lady,” resumed Mr. Schriven, still maintaining his half-amused, half-ironical manner, “but I must inform you that I cannot afford to employ my social equals as shop-girls.”

“When I enter your employ of my own free will,” responded Belle promptly, “I the same as promise to obey all the rules and regulations of your establishment, and I’ll do it, too.  What’s more, I’ll sell so many goods in dull times and all times that you can well afford to make a place for me if you have none.  One thing is certain—­I’m going to get work, and my work will repay those who employ me a hundred times.”

“Well, you are an odd fish,” Mr. Schriven ejaculated; “I beg your pardon, you are not yet in my employ—­you are an eccentric young lady, and a very young one, too, to be making your way in the world in this irresistible style.  You mean what you say, that if employed you will put on no airs and conform to rules?”