Mimi tried to plead a multiplicity of engagements, but to no avail. Mrs. Crosby as a poor woman had had a knack of making people do what she wanted them to do. Now that her aggressiveness was backed by wealth far greater than she had ever dreamed as a girl the world possessed, she could be evaded now only by one’s abrupt taking to one’s heels. Mimi made a wry face as she entered the lavender car adorned by the huge Crosby monogram in gilt. Resistance was useless, she realized, and Mrs. Crosby did buy a lot of things from Francine. Though her gowns always looked as though they had been purchased on Fourteenth Street in New York, somewhere east of the Avenue.
“My dear, I bought the cutest, sweetest little statue yesterday—the darlingest little Cupids with bows and arrows you ever saw. Horace tells me the only place I can put it is in the garage—we’ve got so much stuff now, the house is running over. But I don’t care—it’s a dear—and it must be good, for it cost me twelve thousand francs! And I bought it from the artist himself—oh, Miss Daquin, you should have seen him. Big dark eyes and long hair and the sweetest velvet jacket—he looked just like a Sicilian bandit, though I’ve never seen one, but I just know they look like that. He made me feel all creepy inside—say, I’ll take you down to meet him—he’s such a dear I know you’ll fall in love with him right off—”
“Thanks—you’re very kind but I just can’t possibly make it this afternoon,” Mimi hastily interrupted her. “Ought really to be at work now but just couldn’t resist the temptation of having luncheon with you,” she added as she saw the childish pout of disappointment which fitted instantly over Mrs. Crosby’s face when she met opposition to any wish of hers.
“Well, some other day then—but you must see him!” Mrs. Crosby smiled, mollified by Mimi’s insincere compliment.