"Are you sure this is the place you're looking for?" he asked. "We handle some very expensive automobiles here."
"We noticed," Eleanor said, attempting a small smile. "They're beautiful. We only wanted to learn a little more."
John made a short sound that might have passed for a laugh if he had not wanted the people around him to hear it. "These cars start at nine hundred thousand dollars. The model you're pointing to costs considerably more. It's not exactly a place for casual sightseeing."
Walter held his gaze. "We understand that the cars are expensive. We'd still like to ask some questions."
For a moment John appeared annoyed by the simple fact that his first warning had not made them leave. He turned his body slightly, inviting the attention of two associates standing near the reception desk. Eleanor saw the movement and felt her stomach tighten. She knew the look on his face. She had seen it in other decades, on other faces, beneath other forms of supposedly professional clothing.
"Look," John said, his voice louder now, "I think there's been a misunderstanding. People like you don't generally come in here to purchase cars in this price range. We have serious customers waiting for assistance."
Eleanor inhaled sharply. Walter's jaw set, but he kept his hat at his side and did not raise his voice. "What exactly do you mean by people like us?" he asked.
John let his eyes travel over their faces and clothing once more, slowly enough to make the answer plain. "I mean people who can actually afford what we're selling," he replied. "Surely you understand. There are more appropriate places for you to shop."
A young customer near the white coupe laughed into her hand. Someone behind the desk whispered something that produced a second laugh. The sounds were not loud, but Eleanor heard them clearly. What hurt was not simply the insult itself, although that was cruel enough. What hurt was the sight of people witnessing it and deciding that silence, amusement, or embarrassment on their own behalf was an acceptable substitute for intervening.
Walter placed his hat back on his head. The motion was deliberate, giving him a moment to steady his voice. "We haven't done anything wrong," he said. "We came into a store and asked about a car. You have no reason to speak to us that way."
"I'm protecting the customer experience," John replied. He folded his arms, satisfied with a phrase that sounded respectable. "I don't have time to give private tours to people who clearly aren't buyers."
Eleanor reached for Walter's hand, and he felt how cold her fingers had become. She did not ask him to argue. She had argued enough in her lifetime, enough to recognize when another person's cruelty was being performed for an audience. They had wanted a pleasant hour choosing something beautiful together. She could not bear the idea of fighting for the basic courtesy needed to ask the price of a car.
"Walter," she said quietly, "let's go."