Sharp-eyed, rapier-tongued Ella Crane, the saleswoman, was expatiating on the charm and desirability of an ugly super-expensive silver band. As she went to the window to get another tray sympathy for the woman who was about to receive the atrocity overcame Cindy Clinton's caution. "Not that one," she whispered. "It's been here for ages." He turned. The clearest gray eyes she had ever seen keenly interrogated hers. Suspicion softened to a smile, the smile spread to a mouth which revealed a flash of white teeth in a bronzed face. His black hair was faintly dusted with white at the temples. Fine hands. Strong, with an intaglio seal ring on the left little finger. Thir-tyish, she thought, and seen lots of service. "Thanks," he whispered, then as the saleswoman returned with more bracelets: "You know Sally, give me a break," he appealed to the girl beside him. "Which one shall I select for her? I'm sold on this silver band with the turquoise. Think she'd like it?" Indignation that she was being ignored straightened the mouth of the saleswoman to a thin line.
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