Certainly, if Mrs. Thompson could not accept the bulk of Archibald Bence's compliments, she might justly pride herself on being always anxious to spot merit among her people. Unaided by any advice, she had quickly spotted the young man in the Carpets department.
Making her tour of inspection one day, she was drawn towards the wide entrance of Carpets by the unseemly noise of a common female voice. Looking into Carpets, she found the shrewish wife of an old farmer raging and nagging at everybody, because she could not satisfy herself with what was being offered to her. Half the stock was already on the floor; Number One and Number Two were at their wits' ends, becoming idiotic, on the verge of collapse; Number Three had just come to their rescue.
"Oh, take it away.... No—not a bit like what I'm asking for." And the virago turned to her hen-pecked husband. "You were a fool to bring me here. I told you we ought to have gone to London."
"But madam knows the old saying. One may go farther and fare worse. I can assure you, madam, there's nothing in the London houses that we can't supply here."
"Oh, yes, you're glib enough—but if you've got it, why don't you bring it out?"
"If madam will have patience, I guarantee that we will suit her—yes, in less than three minutes."
The young man spoke firmly yet pleasantly; and he looked and smiled at this ugly vixenish customer as though she had been young, gracious, and beautiful.
Mrs. Thompson did not intervene: she stood near the entrance, watching and listening.
"Now, madam, if you want value for your money, look at this.... No?... Very good. This is Axminster—genuine Axminster,—and very charming colouring.... No?... What does madam think of this?... No?"