MISS DE M. I _had_ some very pretty ones; but I'm afraid they're all--oh, no, there's just _one_ left--crimson velvet and real _pa.s.s.e.m.e.nterie_. (_She produces a bag_). Too trotty for words, isn't it?

MRS. MAYCUP (_tacitly admitting its trottiness_). But then--that sort of purse shape----Could I get a small pair of folding curling-irons into it, should you think, at a pinch?

MISS DE M. You could get _anything_ into it--at a pinch. I've one myself which will hold--well, I can't tell you what it _won't_ hold!

Half-a-guinea--so _many_ thanks! (_To herself, as_ MRS. MAYCUP _carries off her_ _bag_.) What _would_ the vicar's wife say if she knew I'd sold her church collection bag for _that_! But it's all in a good cause!

(_An_ ELDERLY LADY _comes up_.) May I show you some of these----?

The ELDERLY LADY. Well, I was wondering if you had such a thing as a good warm pair of sleeping socks; because, these bitter nights, I do find I suffer so from cold in my feet.

MISS DE M. (_with effusion_). Ah, then I can _feel_ for you--so do _I_!

At least, I _used_ to before I tried--(_To herself._) Where _is_ that pair of thick woollen driving-gloves? Ah, _I_ know. (_Aloud._)--these.

I've found them _such_ a comfort!

The E. L. (_suspiciously_). They have rather a queer----And then they are divided at the ends, too.

MISS DE M. Oh, haven't you seen _those_ before? Doctors consider them so much healthier, don't you know.

The E. L. I daresay they are, my dear. But aren't the--(_with delicate embarra.s.sment_)--the separated parts rather long?

MISS DE M. Do you _think_ so? They allow so much more freedom, you see; and then, of course, they'll shrink.

The E. L. That's true, my dear. Well, I'll take a pair, as you recommend them so strongly.

MISS DE M. I'm quite _sure_ you'll never regret it!

(_To herself, as the_ E. L. _retires, charmed_.) I'd give _anything_ to see the poor old thing trying to put them on!

MISS MIMOSA TENDRILL (_to herself_). I do so _hate_ hawking this horrid old thing about! (_Forlornly, to_ MRS. ALLb.u.t.t-INNETT.) I--I beg your pardon; but _will_ you give me ten-and-sixpence for this lovely work-basket?

MRS. ALLb.u.t.t-INNETT. My good girl, let me tell you I've been pestered to buy that identical basket at every bazaar I've set foot in for the last twelve-month, and how you can have the face to ask ten-and-six for it--you must think I've more money than wit!

MISS TENDR. (_abashed_). Well--_eighteenpence_ then? (_To herself, as_ Mrs. A. I. _closes promptly_.) There, I've sold _something_, anyhow!

The HON. DIANA D'AUTENBAS (_to herself_). It's rather fun selling at a Bazaar; one can let oneself _go_ so much more! (_To the first man she meets._) I'm sure you'll buy one of my b.u.t.tonholes--now _won't_ you? If I fasten it in for you myself?

MR. CADNEY ROWSER. A b.u.t.ton'ole, eh? Think I'm not cla.s.sy enough as I am?

MISS D'AUT. I don't think _anyone_ could accuse you of not being "_cla.s.sy_;" still a flower would just give the finishing-touch.

MR. C. R. (_modestly_). Rats!--if you'll pa.s.s the reedom. But you've such a way with you that--there--'ow much.

MISS D'AUT. Only five shillings. Nothing to _you_!

MR. C. R. Five bob? You're a artful girl, _you_ are! "_Fang de Seakale_," and no error! But I'm _on_ it; it's worth the money to 'ave a flower fastened in by such fair 'ands. I won't 'owl--not even if you _do_ run a pin into me.... What? You ain't done a'ready! No _'urry_, yer know.... 'Ere, won't you come along to the refreshment-stall, and 'ave a little something at my expense. Do!

MISS D'AUT. I think you must imagine you are talking to a barmaid!

MR. C. R. (_with gallantry_). I on'y wish barmaids was 'alf as pleasant and sociable as _you_, Miss. But they're a precious stuck-up lot, _I_ can a.s.sure you!

MISS D'AUT. (_to herself as she escapes_). I suppose one ought to put up with this sort of thing--for a charity!

MRS. BABBICOMBE (_at the Toy Stall, to the Belle of the Bazaar, aged three-and-a-half_). You _perfect_ duck! You're simply too _sweet_! I _must_ find you something. (_She tempers generosity with discretion by presenting her with a small pair of knitted doll's socks_.) There, darling!

The BELLE'S MOTHER. What do you say to the kind lady _now_, Marjory?

MARJORY (_a practical young person, to the donor_). Now div me a dolly to put ve socks on.

[MRS. B. _finds herself obliged to repair this omission_.

A YOUNG LADY RAFFLER (_to a_ YOUNG MAN). Do take a ticket for this charmin' _sachet_. Only half-a-crown!

The YOUNG MAN. Delighted! If you'll put in for this _splendid_ cigar cabinet. Two shillin's!

[_The_ YOUNG LADY _realises that she has encountered an Augur, and pa.s.ses on_.

MISS DE. M. (_to_ MR. ISTHMIAN GATWICK). Can't I tempt you with this tea-cosy? It's so absurdly cheap!

MR. ISTHMIAN GATWICK (_with dignity_). A-thanks; I think not. Never _take_ tea, don't you know.

MISS DE M. (_with her characteristic adaptability_). Really? No more do _I_. But you _could_ use it as a _smoking-cap_, you know. _I_ always----

[_Recollects herself, and breaks off in confusion_.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "You have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament."]

MISS OPHELIA PALMER (_in the "Wizard's Cave"--to_ MR. CADNEY ROWSER).

Yes, your hand indicates an intensely refined and spiritual nature; you are perhaps a _little_ too indifferent to your personal comfort where that of others is concerned; sensitive--too much so for your own happiness, perhaps--you feel things keenly when you _do_ feel them. You have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament--seven-and-sixpence, please.

MR. C. R. (_impressed_). Well, Miss, if you can read all that for seven-and-six on the palm of my 'and, I wonder what you _wouldn't_ see for 'alf a quid on the sole o' my boot!

[MISS P.'S _belief in Chiromancy sustains a severe shock_.

BOBBIE PATTERSON (_outside tent, as Showman_). This way to the Marvellous Jumping Bean from Mexico! Threepence!

VOICE FROM TENT. Bobbie! Stop! The Bean's _lost_! Lady Honor's horrid Thought-reading Poodle has just stepped in and swallowed it.

BOBBIE. Ladies and Gentlemen, owing to sudden domestic calamity, the Bean has been unavoidably compelled to retire, and will be unable to appear till further notice.

MISS SMYLIE (_to_ MR. OTIS BARLEYWATER, _who--in his own set--is considered "almost equal to Corney Grain"_). I thought you were giving your entertainment in the library? Why _aren't_ you?

MR. OTIS BARLEYWATER (_in a tone of injury_). Why? Because I can't give my imitations of Arthur Roberts and Yvette Guilbert with anything _like_ the requisite "go," unless I get a better audience than three programme-sellers, all under ten, and the cloak-room maid--_that's_ why!

MRS. ALLb.u.t.t-INNETT (_as she leaves, for the benefit of bystanders_). I must say, the house is _most_ disappointing--not at _all_ what I should expect a _Marquis_ to live in. Why, my _own_ reception-rooms are very nearly as large, and decorated in a much more modern style!

BOBBIE PATTERSON (_to a_ "DOOSID GOOD-NATURED FELLOW, _who doesn't care what he does," and whom he has just discovered inside a case got up to represent an automatic sweetmeat machine_). Why, my dear old _chap_! No idea it was _you_ inside that thing! Enjoying yourself in there, eh?

The DOOSID GOOD-NATURED FELLOW (_fluffily, from the interior_). Enjoying myself! With the beastly pennies droppin' down into my boots, and the kids howlin' because all the confounded chocolates have worked up between my shoulder-blades, and I can't shake 'em out of the slit in my arm? I'd like to see _you_ tryin' it!