“And I’ll go home and have a rest myself. I am to help at a bazaar this afternoon, and I don’t feel at all in my full beauty. Good-bye, Sophie. Cheer up! There’s a good time coming!”
“There’s a good time coming for you!” predicted Sophie confidently.
Chapter Fifteen.
“Lend me five pounds!”
The contrasts of life seemed painfully strong to Claire Gifford that Saturday afternoon as she seated herself in the luxurious car by Mrs Willoughby’s side, and thought of Sophie Blake obliged to borrow ten pounds to pay for a chance of health, and the contrast deepened during the next few hours, as she watched beautifully gowned women squandering money on useless trifles which decked the various “stalls.” Embroidered cushions, painted sachets, veil cases, shaving cases, night-dress cases, bridge bags, fan bags, handkerchief bags, work bags; bags of every size, of every shape, of every conceivable material; bead necklaces, mats—a wilderness of mats—a very pyramid of drawn-thread work. Claire found a seat near the principal stall, where she caught the remarks of the buyers as they turned away. ”...I detest painted satin! Can’t think why I bought that ridiculous sachet. It will have to go on to the next bazaar.”
”...That makes my twenty-third bag! Rather a sweet, though, isn’t he? It will go with my grey dress.”
“This is awful! I’m not getting on at all. I can’t decently spend less than five pounds. For goodness’ sake tell me what to buy!”
“Can’t think why people give bazaars! Such an upset in the house. For some charity, I believe—I forget what. She asked me to come...”