“Blouses” pulsed with excitement.  Miss Ena Rolls and her brother were said to be “showing their father’s shop to an English lord.”  How the thrilling tale began to go the rounds nobody in “Blouses” could tell.  But whenever any famous personage—­a millionaire’s daughter or an actress, a society beauty or the heroine of a fashionable scandal—­enters a big department store, the news of her advent runs from counter to counter like wildfire.  In some shops the appearance of an Astor, a Vanderbilt, or a Princess Patricia would send up the mercury of excitement forty degrees higher than that of a Miss or Mr. Rolls.  But at the Hands, Peter the Great’s son and daughter would have drawn all eyes from the reigning Czar and Czarina of Russia.

It was rumoured that they had lunched early in the Pompeian restaurant.  The waitress who had served them had not known until too late.  She would regret this all her life.  Mr. Michaels, of “Jewellery,” who had been honoured by showing them pearls, was envied by all his fellows, and the same with Miss Dick, of “Candy,” and Miss Wallace, in “Perfume.”  Girls in all departments grew quite jumpy in expectation that the party might appear, and under the intense nervous strain of trying to recognize them in time.

“Rubberneck!” one hissed to another, and giggled if she made her start.

Even Miss Stein, now somewhat resigned to fate and looking more kindly at Fred Thorpe, became condescending and communicative in the general flurry.

“Keep your eyes peeled for a good-looking, short guyl in blue velvet, with an ermine muff and stole that’s a beaut from Beautville,” she said to Win.  “Thorpe saw her.  He’s had her pointed out to him at the theayter, so he knows.  Her brother’s dark and thin, but blue eyed.  I saw in the Sunday supplement he’s goin’ to marry the sister of that lord.”

* * * * *

There was a dinner at Sea Gull Manor that night in honour of the Rolls’s guests, and just as Eileen had finished dressing, her brother Raygan knocked at her door.

“Want me to say your tie’s all right?” she chirped.

“No, my child, I do not,” said Rags.  “I wouldn’t trust your taste round the corner with a tie.  You’re looking rather pleased with yourself—­what?”

“I’m pleased with myself and everybody else,” replied Eileen.  “This is one of my happy nights.”

“I wonder why?  There’s sure to be a dull crowd at dinner.  I’ve found out now the Rollses know all the wrong lot.”

“I found that out long ago.  But I don’t care.  And I’m going to sit by Petro.  So I shall be all right.”

“You’ve jolly well been with him the whole blessed day.  Aren’t you sick of his society yet?”

“No.  And I shouldn’t be till doomsday.  He talks to me of such interesting things.”

“Has he ever by chance said anything to you about the Lady in the Moon?”

“Good gracious! no, nor the man either.  Nor the green cheese it’s made of.  Is that the sort of conversation Ena’s been treating you to?  If it is, no wonder you look bored stiff.  You never could stand romance from any one but darling Pobbles.”