“I haven’t time to think about it,” she fibbed.  “Now I must say good-bye.  We’re coming to the ground floor.”

“Let’s go along with her, Miss Rolls, and see her home,” suggested Rags.  “I want to know whether the blouse department beats that Monarchic room with all the mirrors—­what?”

Ena’s face showed distress.  Her eyes actually appealed to the cause of it to save her, and Win was only too ready to respond.

“Please don’t come,” she protested earnestly.  “It wouldn’t do.  It’s against the rules to talk to—­to any one you know, except on business.  I’m new here still, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to get me into trouble.  I’d much rather go alone, though it’s very nice of you to offer.  Good-bye!”

The lift had at last reached the ground floor, and all Win had to do was to let herself be borne out on a warm tide of females.  Ena pressed her body against the wall, and Lord Raygan must, perforce, stand by her.

“Good-bye!” she cried.  “We have to go up again, you know.”

“We’ll sail by, anyhow, and see where you hang out later,” Raygan called after the disappearing form in black.  “And we’ll bring Rolls and my sister.”

By this time the elevator had emptied itself, save for those bound for the basement and Ena and Rags.  It was impossible for Win to forbid the party to “sail by,” or to make any answer at all, over the decorated heads of many women.  But she felt as if she would rather die than have Peter Rolls see her working in his father’s store.  He might easily think that she had taken a place there because of knowing him, and that, regretting the snub delivered at parting, she had hoped he might some day find her in the Hands.

“I just can’t bear it,” she said to herself.  “I’ll have to pretend to be ill, and get permission from Mr. Thorpe to leave the floor again—­to go to the hospital room—­anything to get away.”

But—­wouldn’t that be like the ostrich hiding its head in the sand?  Evidently Lord Raygan and Lady Eileen were being shown things.  If they hadn’t been there already they would be sure to take a peep into the hospital as well as the rest room.  Not the restaurant perhaps!  If Mr. Rolls junior and his sister had any idea what that was like, they would avoid it with their distinguished guests.  Still, even there one would not be safe.  The only sure escape would be to go home, and she would have to look very ill indeed before she could obtain leave of absence for the rest of the day.

Wondering what on earth was to be done, Win suddenly recalled the look in Ena Rolls’s eyes, which had said as plainly as spoken words:  “For heaven’s sake get me out of this scrape, and do or say something to put Lord Raygan off dragging me with him to your horrid old blouse department.”

“She won’t let them come!” Win told herself.  “Somehow she’ll prevent it.  I’ll stick to my guns.”

So she went back to her place as if nothing had happened and returned to Mr. Thorpe the permit he, as aisle manager, had given her to leave her duties and go off the floor on which they were carried out.  It was a small paper slip signed by him, and Thorpe would have been responsible had she outstayed the time asked for.  But she was safely within it, and she had herself well enough in hand, after her adventure, to answer his kind, sad smile with gratitude.