The "something" proved to be a hundred-franc note.
"Oh, no! Not all that!" gasped the impromptu Red Cross Flag seller. "It's only a franc! I can't take any more!"
"Oh, but of course you can. It's for the soldiers," put in Miss Walsh, a look of surprise crossing her mild, Roman-nosed face. "Of course you must take it. I like giving things.... There! Where's the little sachet? How sweet! Did you make it yourself? I must put it in among my writing-paper." (Case produced, all Bond Street pig-skin and gold-monogrammed A. W.)
Olwen hesitated. Of course the Charm would be of no earthly good there, even if it were of any good at all, she thought, half fluttered, half ashamed of herself. One curious thing she had noticed about this Charm already.
Alone with it, the whole incredible theory seemed real. Brought into contact with other people, it appeared nonsense. Still, since she was going to give it a trial, she might as well do it properly. For a moment she listened again to the lonely, talkative woman.
"Oh, you know, I've always longed to give things! Only I've no one to give to. Shopping is lovely, but not when it's only for oneself——"
"No," absently from Olwen (who sometimes felt she had all Carnarvonshire commissioning her to shop for them as soon as she got to town). "That sachet——" she ventured presently, eyeing the case. "It's supposed to be a mascot, you know. To bring you luck."
"Oh?"
"Perhaps you don't believe in it? But if you wouldn't mind.... To please me," said Olwen. "I mean to please the Red Cross! If you'd wear it!"
"Oh, I must wear it, must I?" (Case opened; sachet pinned by a large pearl bar to the front of the thick white satin shirt.)