SHOPPING
"If you should happen to be in Regent Street tomorrow at four" (ran the assignation), "just where what's the name of the street comes into it, and a lady in a very pretty new mauve coat and skirt bows to you, raise your hat and say 'Crisis' and she will let you help her with her shopping."
My guess at the name of the street was successful. I raised my hat and said "Good-afternoon."
"But you had to say 'Crisis,'" said Miss Middleton. "That's the password."
"I can't. I've sworn I'll never say it again. I took a most fearful oath. Several people heard me taking it, and swooned."
"But how do I know you're the right one if you don't say it? Well, I suppose I shall have to let you come. I've just lost mother; she went in at the silver department and out at the art fabrics—like people when they can't pay for their hansoms."
"Yes, that's bad. 'The accused, who appeared to feel her position acutely, gave a false address.' What are you going to buy?"
"Well, I thought I'd just help you get your presents first."
"I'm not giving any this Christmas. I gave a lot only a year ago."
"Oh, but haven't they paid you any wages since then?"
"Yes, a few trifling sums, only—— Quick, there's your mother!" I pulled Miss Middleton hastily into the nearest shop and shut the door.
"What fun!" she said breathlessly. "Mother loves hide-and-seek."
Mrs Middleton hurried past, covered with parcels, and dived into another door.
"It's quite safe now," I said. "Let's go and——"
"What can I have the pleasure of showing you?" said a soothing voice at our backs.
We turned round in alarm.
"Er—we only just—let me see, what was it you wanted?" said Miss Middleton to me.
"I don't really want anything. I was going to help you buy one of those—you know."
"Yes, but I've got that. I know there was something you said you wanted very much."
"Probably tea."
"Tiaras," explained Miss Middleton hastily. "Of course."
"Certainly, madam," said the shopwalker. "If you will just sit down," he continued, leading us to a little room out of the main stream of shoppers, "I will send somebody to attend you."
We sat down mechanically. I leant my stick against a showcase and balanced my hat on the top of it.
"Now you've done it," I said. "How many tiaras shall we have? I've got nearly four pounds."
"We needn't have any. We can say we don't much care about their selection."
"Or that we wanted one specially built for us."
"One goes into dozens of shops without buying anything," said Miss Middleton cheerily.
"I never do," I replied gloomily. "Look out, here he is."
An attendant advanced briskly towards us. I put my hands in my pockets and tried to count my money.
"Tiaras, madam? Certainly. About what price?"
"Tell him about three pounds eight and six," I whispered to Miss Middleton. "Three pounds nine," I corrected, as I ran another sixpence to ground.
"Here is a beautiful one at two hundred and fifty pounds."
"Too much," I prompted softly.
"Oh," broke in Miss Middleton brightly, "I'm so sorry—such a silly mistake! We wanted neck-chains, not tiaras! Barbara has a tiara already, hasn't she?" she appealed to me.
"Two," I said quickly. "If not three."
"I'm so sorry," said Miss Middleton, with a dazzling smile. "The first gentleman must have misunderstood. Of course we gave her a tiara last year."
The man was disappointed; I saw that. But the smile melted him, and he went off in all friendliness.
"Tiara doesn't sound very much like neck-chain," I remarked after a pause.
"Oh, don't you think so? It depends how you say it. Like Beauchamp and Cholmondeley."
"And what is it when pronounced properly?"
"It's a chain that hangs round your neck, and when you don't quite know what to say to anybody you play with it carelessly. Same as men smoking cigarettes, only better for you."
"I see. Well, here we have a hundred of the best."
The attendant got to business at once.
"This one," he said, holding up rather a jolly one, "comes out at ten guineas."
"Tell him," I whispered to Miss Middleton, "that we've only come out with three."
"That's very pretty," she said. "Are those moon-stones?"
"Yes, madam. The fashionable stone this year."
"It's more for next year that we want it."
"I should say this season. I don't think you will find a prettier one than this, madam."
"It's very sweet. But aren't they unlucky, unless you happen to have been born in the right month?" She turned to me. "When is Barbara's birthday?"
"May," I said unhesitatingly. "I mean March."
"Anyhow," said Miss Middleton. "I know it's wrong for moonstones, because I was thinking of giving her some two years ago, and it had to "be opals instead."
"We both thought of it," I said.
Miss Middleton looked at me so admiringly that I began to get reckless.
"Besides, we don't know the size of her neck," I went on. "And she never smokes—I mean she never doesn't know what to say to anybody. So I think we should be making a mistake if we gave her this. I do indeed. Now if it had been anybody else but Barbara——"
The man looked from one to the other of us in bewilderment.
"If you could show us some hatpins instead?" said Miss Middleton hurriedly, before he could open his mouth.
"This is excellent," I said, as he retired in confusion; "we're working down well. All we've got to do now is to wait till he comes back and then say that we're sorry but we meant hairpins. With hair-pins you're practically there."
"Supposing they only had gold ones?"
"Then we should point out that they wouldn't go with Barbara's curiously-coloured hair. You leave this to me. I can finish it off now on my head. At the same time I'm sorry I'm not going to spend anything."
"Oh, but you are," said Miss Middleton. "You're going to give me and mother tea."
"Of course I am," I agreed.
* * * * * * *
After tea I went back to the shop by myself.
"I want," I said "a trifle for about three pounds. A moonstone pendant or something. Yes, that's very sweet. No, I'll take it with me."
They packed it in a pretty little box for me, and I'm going to send it to Miss Middleton on the twenty-fourth. I am putting in a card with the words "From Barbara" on it. As I said, I am not giving any presents myself this year, but I do think that Barbara should repay at least some of the kindnesses which have been showered upon her so wantonly.