een herself and her friends
from one bazaar to another, and reappeared, a sort of symbolical
merchandise, a currency in a nightmare, at all the fancy sales held in
the neighbourhood of Leighton Ham.

"The only thing is," said Lady Chaloner, "it is rather a pity, because,
bein' for the Church, people will expect you to sell, you know. Perhaps
you could sell at somebody else's stall. Mine's full, I think," she
added prudently. "Let me see," and her ladyship ran quickly over the
names of the half a dozen young women who, in the most beguiling of
costumes, were going to trip about and sell buttonholes to their
partners of the evening before. Lady Chaloner's solid good sense and
long habit of the world kept things that should be separate perfectly
distinct; she did not for a moment contemplate Mrs. Birkett tripping
about and selling buttonholes. "Perhaps Mrs. Samuels hasn't got her
number complete," she said, not realising this time, the thing being a
little more out of her field of vision, that Mrs. Samuels, who had been
spending her time, energy, and even money, in trying to be friends with
Lady Chaloner, might quite possibly be in the same attitude towards Mrs.
Birkett, if thrust upon her, as Lady Chaloner was to herself.

"I daresay, yes," said Mrs. Birkett, with some misgiving, as she saw
Mrs. Samuels further down the alley, standing with a London manager in
the centre of a group who were laughing and talking round them.

"Let me see, Mrs. Samuels is goin' to have the tea, isn't she?"

"Yes, the refreshment stall," said Mrs. Birkett, referring to her list.

"And Lady Adela Prestige the fortune tellin'--and Princess
Hohenschreien, what did she say she would do? Oh! I remember, the Cafe
Chantant. What has she done about it, I wonder? Do you know anything
about that?"

"I am afraid I don't," said Mrs. Birkett. This, indeed, was quite beyond
her competence.

"I wonder if she has got people enough. Ah! here she is. Madeline!
Maddy!" she called out, as Princess Hohenschreien appeared at the end of
the walk, a parasol lined with pink behind her, and her head thrown back
as she laughed loud and heartily at something her companion had said.

"Yes, dear Lady Chaloner? Were you calling me?"

"I wanted to speak to you about the bazaar," said Lady Chaloner. "How do
you do, M. de Moricourt," to the Princess's companion.

"The bazaar," said the young man in French, as he bowed, "what is that?"

"What is that?" said the Pri