A moment later he was brushing a cobweb from a small bottle containing a yellowish fluid. A soiled and faded label of floral design was affixed to the bottle, and on it appeared, as in letters of fire, the words “Spirit of Love.”
“One shilling, miss.”
“Would it—charm a lady?”
“Certainly! I have sold hundreds of bottles of ‘Spirit of Love’ to gentlemen for that very object. Charms them like magic!”
“Like magic?”
“Like nothing else, miss. Do you wish the bottle for a sick friend? Just so! In that case a few drops on the pillow will prove a real charm.”
Christina nearly dropped. It was too wonderful!
He must be a sosserer!
Christina administers the potion in her own way. While her aunt is asleep, she pours a few drops on the pillow, but, disturbed by the sudden squalling of a cat, lets the phial fall. It empties itself on the pillow.
The aunt, a sceptic, throws the empty bottle into the fire, with the remark “Spirit of Fiddlesticks!”