Pamela ran on:
“And cushions. There should be lots of cushions with frills.” She threw a longing glance at the draper’s.
Jethro looked too. One window was full of down cushions—big, square, and with frills deeper than the cushions themselves.
“They would look lovely on the settle,” Pamela said gloatingly.
Every woman has her pet weakness. Hers had always been carte blanche at the Oriental shop. There was a spatter of Oriental fripperies in a side window at the Liddleshorn draper’s; it was an up-to-date shop.
“And embroidered mats,” she added, “and big bowls to stand flower-pots in; and those green specimen glasses for the table; and a bit or two of that Benares brass; and—it’s really a very good assortment—one of those guitars to hang on the wall with ribbons. You should have fretwork ornaments and some lacquered brackets, on which to stand plates or little blue tear-bottles.”
Jethro beckoned to a small boy on the curb, and threw him the reins.
“We’ll go in,” he said, jumping down and holding out his hand to Pamela.
“I must get some gloves first of all,” she said, as her foot touched the pavement.
When she had bought them, she led Jethro captive through the Oriental department. He told her carelessly to buy what she chose, and she moved eagerly from one counter to another. She chose some gaudy rugs to toss about the oak floors. She bought brass bowls and trays, a few grotesque ornaments for the shelves, mats, a guitar, a Chinese woman’s shoe, a mandarin’s petticoat to throw over an armchair, a bundle of peacock’s feathers, a few bits of coarsely-printed china, various embroidered table-covers—all the vividly-colored, alluring rubbish that she fancied.