Geoffrey Hilliard, as squire of the village, gave an elaborate explanation of the pressing need of a parish nurse, which his hearers already understood far better than he did himself; the wife of a neighbouring squire said that she had found a parish nurse a great acquisition in her own village, and she had very much pleasure in declaring the bazaar open, and the vicar returned thanks to the neighbouring squire’s wife for her kindness in “being present among us to-day,” and then every one clapped feebly, and the bazaar had begun.
The few county people who were present sauntered round Esmeralda’s stall, bought trophies of china and glass, and promptly whirled away in their motors, feeling that they had nobly discharged a duty. There was no denying the fact that it was a dull occasion, and an arduous one into the bargain for sales-women who wanted to get rid of their wares.
The hall was sparsely filled, and the good ladies who were present had come with a certain amount of money in their purses, and a fixed idea of the manner in which they intended to spend it. They would pay for admission, they would pay for tea, they would pay for the concert—conceivably they might even indulge in a second tea—they would purchase buttonholes of hot-house flowers, patronise side shows, and possibly expend a few shillings at the grocery stall (“Should have to buy them in any case, my dear!”) but there the list of their expenditure came to an end. Even when Honor and Pixie were driven out of their fastness, and walked boldly to and fro, hawking tempting selections from the stall, they met with but little success, for if there is no money left in the purse, the best will in the world cannot produce it.
“Wouldn’t you like to buy this lovely little plaque of Della Robbia, from Florence?” inquired Pixie genially of a group of portly matrons. “Reduced to seven and six. Ten shillings at the beginning of the afternoon. Less than cost price!”
“Very pretty!” murmured the ladies, and the portliest of them went a step further and added: “And cheap!” but no one showed the faintest disposition to buy.
“It would look so well in the dark corner of the drawing-room!” suggested Pixie, drawing a bow at a venture, and the three faces instantly became thoughtful and intent.
“That’s true. It might do that. Does it hang?”
“It is made to hang,” Pixie exhibited the holes pierced in the china, “but I should prefer it on a bracket! A bracket nailed across a corner at just the right height, and the plaque put across it, so that you could see it from all parts of the room.—Is your drawing-room blue?”
“Pale blue.”
“How charming! It would just set off this darker shade.”