te with which she had mounted
the stairs.

She handed the roll of mauve paper and stood looking at Mrs. Potten.
Now, she would find out whether Mrs. Potten knew she had flung away her
precious ten-shilling note or not. If she was so stingy why was she so
careless? She was very, very short-sighted, of course, but still that
was no excuse.

"Thanks, my dear," said Mrs. Potten. "I doubt if it is really as nice as
the one we saw that was sold. Thirty shillings--the receipt is on the
paper. It's the first time I've ever had a receipt at a bazaar or sale.
Very business-like; Mr Harding, of course. One can see the handwriting
isn't a woman's!" So saying Mrs. Potten, who had been peering hard at
the collar and the paper, passed it to Lady Dashwood to look at.

"Charming!" said Lady Dashwood.

Now Lady Dashwood knew Mrs. Potten's soul. Mrs. Potten had come into
Oxford at no expense of her own. Mr. Boreham had driven her. She had
also, so Lady Dashwood divined, the intention of helping the Sale as
much as possible, by her moral approbation. Nothing pleased Mrs. Potten
that she saw on the modest undecked tables. Then she had praised a
shilling pincushion, had bought it with much ceremony, and put it into
her bag. "There, I mustn't go and lose this," she had said as she
clicked the fastening of her bag. Then she had praised a Buckinghamshire
collar which was marked "Sold," and in an unwary moment had told Lady
Dashwood that she would have bought that; that was exactly what she
wanted, only it was unfortunately sold. But Lady Dashwood, who was
business-like even in grief, had been equal to the occasion. "I know
there is another one very like it," she had said in a slightly bullying
voice; and when Mrs. Potten moved off as if she had not realised her
luck, murmuring something about having to be somewhere almost
immediately, Lady Dashwood had swiftly arranged with Mrs. Harding that
the other collar, which was somewhere in reserve and was being searched
for, should be sent after them.

This was why Lady Dashwood had conveyed the reluctant Mrs. Potten into
the quadrangle, and had made her climb the stairs with her into these
rooms and wait.

So here was Mrs. Potten, with her collar, trying to believe that she was
not annoyed at having been deprived of thirty shillings in such an
astute way by her dear friend.

"Am I wanted any more?" asked Gwen, looking from one lady to the other.

She took the collar from Lady Dashwood and re