hats and frocks, and touched with envious fingers soft stuffs and laces.
“Some day,” she hummed, “some day!”
She even turned in at Tiffany’s seductive door. Colour was a madness with her, and her little cries of delight over a sapphire encouraged a young clerk to take it out of the case and lay it on the velvet square.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful it hurts!” Bambi exclaimed.
He smiled at her sympathetically.
“Magnificent, isn’t it? Are you interested in jewels?” he added.
“I am interested, but I am not a buyer,” she admitted to him. “I adore colour.”
“Let me show you some things,” he said.
“Oh, no. I mustn’t take up your time.”
“That’s all right. I have nothing else to do just now.”
So he laid before her enraptured gaze the wealth of the Indies—the treasure baubles of a hundred queens—blue and green, and red and yellow, they gleamed at her. In an instinctive gesture she put out her hand, then drew it back quickly.
“Mustn’t touch?” she asked, so like a child that he laughed.
