My spectacles fogged immediately. It’s Mumma, I thought, then told myself firmly, Nonsense, Agnes. It’s condensation.

I set Rosie down, took a handkerchief from my bag, and carefully polished the mist from my lenses. When I replaced them on my nose, my icy courage thawed and puddled under the heated gaze of three spruce shopgirls, each of whom seemed to have spent her entire salary at Halle’s.

Despite the advertised reduction in prices, few other shoppers had ventured out that bitterly cold morning. With no one else to wait on, all three girls advanced on me like an army vanguard, each wearing a combat uniform that was some clever variation on the theme of cultured pearls and a dark French frock with a white collar and cuffs.

“I only want to spend eighty-five dollars,” I told them, backing away. “I—I need clothes. And a pair of sturdy shoes. And an overcoat.”

There’s just the thing, Mumma said when my eyes fell on a sensible brown tweed. It will wear like iron.

The least beautiful but most confident of the three girls came straight up to me. “A dachshund!” this young blonde cried. “Oh, I love dachshunds! Half a dog high, dog and a half long—that’s what my boyfriend, Les, always says. Les is such a card! What’s her name?”

“Rosie,” I said, a little startled.

“Well, nice to meetcha, Rosie. My name’s Mildred.” With that, she snatched Rosie up with such aplomb, the dog hardly wiggled as she was lifted. “Take off your coat,” Mildred urged me, popping her gum. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with, Miss—?”