The big bazaar day died to change to a blaze of electric lights, to a kaleidoscope of colour, of flower dresses, blue and yellow and pink and white, blending and moving; of diners in the miniature Ritz Hotel and other restaurants, eating luxurious meals.
It began again next day, a cheaper, less select affair, with half the assistants far too tired to come, and it ran through another day; a huge spider sucking golden blood from innumerable flies.
It was over at last; the stall-holders ate a merry supper; assistants from the shops cleared away their goods; no one bothered much about it all now.
The Society papers would publish accounts and photographs, with Dollie and Esmé, charitable ladies, always in the most prominent place.
Canon Bright and the secretary were jubilant at supper, thanking everyone; they would call in a day or two. If Mrs Gresham would let them, they would help her with the accounts.
But Dollie told them pleasantly that she wanted no help as yet.
A few days later she sat with Esmé over piles of papers, totting carelessly.
"They've charged horribly for those sweets. Oh! and Claire's bill is exorbitant!" She held it up.
"It's double what it ought to be," said Esmé.
"H'm!" Dollie totted. "I want to pay her off. Just a little on to the hall account, and to odd nothings, and there are a few extra gowns in the price of the blue; that will make it right. One can't slave for nothing," said Dollie. "You can get a couple of gowns, too. I arranged that with her. It was worth it," said Dollie, "to stop the woman's mouth."