She paused for breath, and looked anxiously round. It was plain that she was expecting assistance, and equally plain that it was late in coming. Hildegarde stepped quietly round behind the counter.
"Can I help you?" she whispered.
The lady gave her a grateful glance. "I should be so thankful," she murmured. "All these ladies must be served instantly. The prices are all marked."
The lady who had demanded the "Nuns" had also paused for breath, being stout as well as clamorous; but she now returned to the attack. Hildegarde met her with a calm front, and eyes which tried not to smile.
"Can you—oh! this is a different person. Perhaps you can tell me why the Nuns are not here. It really seems an extraordinary thing that they should not be here at the usual time."
"The messenger may have lost a train, or something of that sort," suggested Hildegarde, soothingly.
"Oh, but that would be no excuse! No excuse at all! When one is in the habit of supplying things to people of consequence, one must not lose trains. Now, are you perfectly sure that they have not come? You know what they are, do you? Little round cakes, with a raisin in the middle, and flavoured with something special. I don't remember what the flavour is, but it is something special, of that I am sure. Have you looked—have you looked everywhere? What is in that box at your elbow? They might have been brought in and laid down without your noticing it. Oblige me by looking in that box at your elbow."
A sudden thought flashed into Hildegarde's mind; she began to unfasten the box, which was her own, whispering at the same time into the ear of her companion in distress.
"Oh! Oh, yes, certainly!" said the latter, also in a whisper. "Anything, I am sure, that will give satisfaction! If you can only—"
"Stop her noise," was evidently what the patient saleswoman longed to say; but she checked the words, and only gave Hildegarde an eloquent glance, as she turned to meet a wild onset in demand of macaroons.