I could design far better hats than these, I myself, and if I were the head of the house I should never have accepted any of them, no matter who bought them.

I suppose, after all, it's the fault of the buyer, but it's a waste--it's not economy." Lifting a green velvet toque trimmed with a skinny white ostrich feather from the peg before which she was standing, she surveyed the august French name emblazoned in gold on the lining.

"Everything isn't good that comes from Paris," she thought, with a shrug which was worthy of Madame at her best.

"Why, I wonder, can't Americans produce 'ideas' themselves?
Why do we always have to depend on the things the French send over to us?
Half the hats and gowns Madame has aren't really good, and yet she makes people pay tremendous prices for things she knows are bad and undistinguished.

All that ought to be changed, and if I ever succeed, if I ever catch on, I am going to change it." An idea, a whole flock of ideas, came to her while she stood there with her rapt gaze on the green velvet toque, which nobody had bought, and which she knew would shortly be "marked down," august French name included, from forty to fifteen and from fifteen to five dollars.