The Flower Brides (5 page)

The saleswoman’s face grew cold.

“We don’t usually exchange,” she said haughtily, “not dresses like that. They’re so apt to be soiled or mussed. Too bad your mother didn’t like it. What is the matter with it? I thought it extremely smart. It seems a pity to give it up when it suits you so well. Don’t you think your mother would get accustomed to it?”

Marigold’s face flamed, and she wished she had not tried. After all, what a mess she was making of it.

“Well,” she said firmly, “I don’t want her to have to get used to something she doesn’t like. I want to get what will please her. After all, I only had it out of the shop for a few hours.”

“And it hasn’t been worn?” asked the woman suspiciously. “We can’t on any account exchange garments that have been worn.”

“Certainly not!” said Marigold. “And you needn’t bother if you feel that way. I can go elsewhere for what I want.” She lifted her young chin a bit haughtily and turned to go out.

“Well, wait a moment. I’ll speak to Madame,” said the woman, and then she sailed away to the back of the room, disappearing for a moment.

Marigold was more perturbed than ever when she saw Madame herself approaching with the saleswoman. But there was a smile on her face as she came up to Marigold.

“Your
maman
was not please with the gown?” she said pleasantly. “Well, you know, I thought myself, a very little too sophisticate for
ma’m’selle
. It is not quite your type. I would have suggest a more ingenue style, but you seem so please!”

Marigold colored quickly and looked relieved at the same time.

“That was it,” she said relieved. “Mother didn’t like the low back. I was afraid of that, but I loved the dress so I hoped to win her over.”

“Well, that is all right, my dear,” said Madame soothingly. “We do not as usual thing exchange exclusive garments, but you so soon return, and I have only just now receive request by telephone for a gown of same type. You bring it with you?”

“No, but I can go after it.” She glanced anxiously at her watch. Could she get back to the house, fold it, and return it without being late to school?

“If you can have here before eleven o’clock—well, yes, I will take back. I think I have customer who will take it.”

Marigold gave another frightened glance at her watch.

“I’ll go right back and get it,” she said breathlessly.

She hurried out of the shop and up the street, fairly flying, her contradictory heart sinking. The dress was gone, her beautiful dress! But she was rid, at least, of the awful burden of self-reproach for having bought it.

She would not let herself think of anything as she flew back to the house, except the dress and how to fold it safely. She would take a taxi back to the shop so that she would not have to carry the big box in such a hurry. And would her mother be there still to question her?

Fortunately, Mrs. Brooke was already starting to her work at the library. She stood on the corner waiting for her bus as Marigold came up.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked anxiously.

“No,” said Marigold, “I’m just going back for something that I had to have. Are you all right, Mother?”

“Yes, dear. You won’t forget the telegram?”

Marigold smiled and shook her head. She was almost too out-of-breath to speak and was glad that the bus pulled up to the curb just then and her mother waved her hand and was gone. Now she could fold that dress without fear of her mother finding out. She wanted the deed to be irrevocably done before her mother knew, because she would surely suspect it was done for her sake and protest. She simply mustn’t find out until it was all over.

She rushed upstairs and found her mother had covered the dress with the satiny tissue paper, and it hung there like a white ghost, so out of keeping with the plainness of the rest of the room.

Marigold gave one gasp of sorrow and renunciation, lifted down the papers carefully, and arranged then in the big box that still stood on the little table by her bed. She took down the dress, held it up for a second, taking one last look at it, and then began swiftly to lay it in the wrappings, as nearly as possible as it had been wrapped at the shop, touching it tenderly, like some pretty dead thing that she was folding from her sight forever. While she did it she would not let herself think of Laurie or the party or any of her grand aspirations of yesterday. She was intent only on one thing: to see that dress safely back in the shop and its burden off her conscience. As she laid the last folds of paper carefully over the lovely silk, tucking in the last dripping crimson thread of the sash fringe and patting it down, it came to her that this was all like her dream of the night before. She had started out to walk a narrow highway, far above her own natural little sphere, and had found it too far and too high for her. She sensed vaguely that she had almost gotten to a place where disaster might have come to her soul, and now she had to get back and start over again. If she was still going to the party, or if she was not, what would happen next she could not consider now. When she got that dress back and her hundred and fifty dollars in her purse, then she could think of the next move. She had known all the time that it wasn’t right for a girl in her position to spend so much for one dress.

But now she had to move so swiftly, so carefully—oh, if anything should happen to that dress before she got it safely back! Or if Madame should profess to find a tiny spot of dirt! Oh, suppose she had let a tear drop on the silk! A hundred-and-fifty-dollar tear!

She giggled as she tied the cord around the big box, slipped into her coat, grabbed her purse, and went out the door. She felt as if she were a little bit crazy, but she was getting that dress taken back! It was too good to be true. And she was doing it, without Mother having to worry about it either!

She was unprepared for the smiles that wreathed Madame’s face when she got back to the shop.

“I thank you a thousand times,” she said graciously. “My customer is on her way, and I had nothing to show her. She is a very wealthy woman, and very particular. She buys many garments from me. I like to please her, and I thank you for your promptness in bringing it. And now, I shall return your money—or can we serve you further?”

“Why, I cannot stop now. I have an appointment to which I must not be late. Perhaps I had better take the money now, if you don’t mind. But—would you just tell me the price of the suit in the window?”

“Oh, that brown? Yes, that is lovely for you; it will just suit your type. That is now fifty dollars. If you like it, I give you a discount on it, for returning the evening dress so quickly.”

“Oh!” gasped Marigold. “I
—could
you hold it until I can return this afternoon? I would want to try it on, you know.”

“
Certainement!
” Madame said, smiling. “I give you an option. You come in about four to five?
Oui!
I shall keep. Good morning,
ma’moiselle
!”

Marigold found herself in the street breathless, wondering. What did it all mean? She had returned the evening dress without any trouble, and here was this wonderful suit, furred and exquisite, at such a reasonable price—that is, it was reasonable for garments at François’s. But she must think it over and do some calculating before she even considered this, bargain though it was.

She cast one appraising eye at the window as she signaled a taxi. The suit was wonderful. It did not shout its price to the world, either. Her practiced eye saw at once that the material was of the best and the fur was lovely. Moreover, she knew that it was her type, a garment she could wear for several years, conservative, yet nice enough for anywhere. Only, of course, it would not do for the party!

She winced a little as she realized that the wonderful white-and-crimson gown was no longer hers.

Did that mean that she was not going to the party? That perhaps she would be going with Mother down to Washington for Aunt Marian’s birthday?

Her heart quivered and fairly turned over at that.

Or did it mean that she was to buy some little cheap evening gown, which everyone acquainted with the stores of the city could immediately price, or that she was going to slave at night making a dress for herself—or—? Or what?

Marigold didn’t answer that question to herself. She got into the taxi and looked at her watch. If this taxi didn’t get caught in traffic, she might make the school door by the time the last bell rang! That was important.

But what about the party?

D
uring the morning, in the intervals of work in the library, Mrs. Brooke wrote a letter to her sister, intended to supplement the telegram that she thought she had sent.

Mrs. Brooke folded the letter and addressed it. She would mail it on her way home that night. Then she put it safely into her handbag and went about her work, trying to forget her problems and her longing for things it seemed she could not have, counting up the future possibilities and wondering how long it would be before she could afford to set aside a little every month in anticipation of another chance to go to Marian.

Meantime Marigold, in her classroom, air-conditioned and furnished with all modern equipment for teaching the young mind, was trying to make clear to her class of well-dressed, well-groomed, adoring little girls the difference between adjectives and adverbs, and trying to keep her mind on what she was doing. But in spite of herself, white silk evening gowns with long velvet sashes would persist in parading up and down the aisles in range of her vision, and the grand party, which had for the past few days been the background of her thoughts, whirled nearer and nearer to her view. And now it was Laurie’s smiling face that came questioning her thoughts, demanding to know why she had taken that wonderful dress back to the shop. Laurie’s face as he smiled down upon her at the arena, skimming along over the crystal surface of the ice. Laurie with admiration in his eyes. How could she have so forgotten it and her longing to please him and see the surprise in his eyes when he first viewed her in that wonderful dress? Had she actually taken the dress back? She must have been crazy! Surely there would have been some way to keep that dress and send Mother to Aunt Marian’s besides! There was nothing anywhere in the city that could equal that dress! She must have it! She simply must! She could not go to the party without it! As soon as this class was over, she would slip out into the hall and telephone the shop that she had changed her mind and would keep the dress! It would not do to wait until recess time. The other woman might come and buy it! She could never go to the party without that dress to give her confidence.

But when the class was over at last, a visiting mother appeared and had to be taken around on a tour of inspection. Then another class claimed her attention, and before long with a dull thud it came over her that it was almost noon and she hadn’t been able to telephone yet.

And now her common sense was asserting itself again. She must not spend so much for a dress for one evening’s pleasure! She must find another less expensive! And her mother must go to her sister’s birthday party.

The last period in the morning was a study period in Marigold’s room. She had nothing definite that had to be done, yet she must not leave the room, for it was her duty to see that the young people under her care were diligent in their work.