“Mine is not blue. It is pink.”
“But think of the contrast! Blue and pink! What could be sweeter? It would look perfect against your walls! Shall I make it up safely in a box? We have a special parcels department.”
“Not to-day, thank you,” said the owner of the blue drawing-room. “I’ll think of it,” said the owner of the pink. The silent third asked tentatively: “Could you make it five?”
The next group were more hopeless still. They didn’t like Della Robbia. Common, they called it, that bright yellow and blue. Pixie was informed that if she offered the plaque for nothing it would be declined. She carried it dejectedly back to the stall, piled a tray with marmalade jars, gave it to Stanor to carry, and started off on another promenade.
“Marmalade jars! Fine marmalade jars! Who will buy my marmalade jars?” chanted the young man loudly, and the audience giggled, and listened with indulgent looks, even went so far as to finger the jars themselves, admire the design, and marvel how they could have been made for the price, but not a single one of the number had a vacancy for such an article in the home. Even when Stanor suggested that the jars were not dedicated to marmalade alone, but might be used for jam, for honey, for syrup, the supply seemed ridiculously out of proportion to the demand, and half an hour’s exercise of his own pleading, seconded by Pixie’s beguilements, brought in a total result of three shillings, which, to say the least of it, seemed inadequate.
“At this rate,” said Esmeralda, “we shall have a van-load to take home!” Honor, seated dejectedly on an inverted packing-chest, discoursed in a thin, monotonous tone on the glories of charity sales in the States. They were always crowded, it appeared; policemen stood at the doors to prevent a crush; the buying was in the nature of a competition. Young girls offering wares for sale found themselves surrounded by throngs of millionaires, bidding against each other for the privilege of obtaining any article which she was pleased to offer. Having accomplished a purchase, it became the overwhelming desire of the purchaser to present the article in question as a votive offering to the fair sales-woman herself. ... Such a recital was hardly calculative to enliven the occasion. Esmeralda frowned, and Pixie sighed, and for the first time in her existence doubted the entire superiority of being born a Briton. She remembered her rebuffs with the Della Robbia plaque and thought wistfully of those millionaires!
The concert, however, was a success: the room was filled, the audience was appreciative, and lovely little Jack in the character of an invalid evoked storms of applause. The spirits of the performers were improved by their success, but as the audience now cleared off rapidly on dinner intent, there seemed no reason why Geoffrey, Stanor, and Robert Carr should not follow their example. The suggestion was made, Esmeralda vouchsafed a gracious permission, and went off herself to parley with another stall-holder. The three men made for the door, with relief written on every line of their figures, and the two girls remained on duty seated on packing-cases.
“At home in the States,” remarked Honor severely, “the men would not be paid to run off home to dine in comfort, leaving the girls alone to work.”
“On sandwiches!” supplemented Pixie sadly, “and stewed tea!” She was hungry herself, and could have appreciated a well-cooked meal. “I’d like to know some American men,” she opined. “You must be longing to get back to them, as they are so much more appreciative and polite than our men over here!”
Honor blushed, and regarded the points of her neat little shoes.