The entire second floor was devoted to work-rooms in which many sewing machines buzzed during the day and went to rest at six in the evening. Tables, chairs, manikins, wall-hooks and hangers thrust forward a bewildering assortment of fabrics in all stages of development, from an original uncut piece to a practically completed garment. In other words, here was the workshop of the most exclusive, most expensive modiste in all the great city.
The ground floor, or rather the floor above the English basement, contained the salon and fitting rooms of an establishment known to every woman in the city as
DEBORAH'S.
To return to the Marchiness and Julia.
"Not that a little dust or even a great deal of dirt will make any different to the Princess," the former was saying, "but, just the same, I feel better, if I know we've done our best."
"Thank the Lord, she don't come very often," was Julia's frank remark. "It's the stairs, I fancy."
"And the car-fare," added her mistress. "Is it six o'clock, Julia?"
"Yes, ma'am, it is."
The Marchioness groaned a little as she straightened up and tossed the dust-cloth on the table. "It catches me right across here," she remarked, putting her hand to the small of her back and wrinkling her eyes.
"You shouldn't be doing my work," scolded Julia. "It's not for the likes of you to be—"
"I shall lie down for half an hour," said the Marchioness calmly. "Come at half-past six, Julia."
