The ELDERLY LADY. Well, I was wondering if you had such a thing as a good warm pair of sleeping socks; because, these bitter nights, I do find I suffer so from cold in my feet. MISS DE M. (_with effusion_). Ah, then I can _feel_ for you--so do _I_! At least, I _used_ to before I tried--(_To herself._) Where _is_ that pair of thick woollen driving-gloves? Ah, _I_ know. (_Aloud._)--these. I've found them _such_ a comfort! The E. L. (_suspiciously_). They have rather a queer----And then they are divided at the ends, too. MISS DE M. Oh, haven't you seen _those_ before? Doctors consider them so much healthier, don't you know. The E. L. I daresay they are, my dear. But aren't the--(_with delicate embarrassment_)--the separated parts rather long? MISS DE M. Do you _think_ so? They allow so much more freedom, you see; and then, of course, they'll shrink. The E. L. That's true, my dear. Well, I'll take a pair, as you recommend them so strongly. MISS DE M. I'm quite _sure_ you'll never regret it! (_To herself, as the_ E. L. _retires, charmed_.) I'd give _anything_ to see the poor old thing trying to put them on! MISS MIMOSA TENDRILL (_to herself_). I do so _hate_ hawking this horrid old thing about! (_Forlornly, to_ MRS. ALLBUTT-INNETT.) I--I beg your pardon; but _will_ you give me ten-and-sixpence for this lovely work-basket? MRS. ALLBUTT-INNETT. My good girl, let me tell you I've been pestered to buy that identical basket at every bazaar I've set foot in for the last twelve-month, and how you can have the face to ask ten-and-six for it--you must think I've more money than wit! MISS TENDR. (_abashed_). Well--_eighteenpence_ then? (_To herself, as_ Mrs. A. I. _closes promptly_.) There, I've sold _something_, anyhow! The HON. DIANA D'AUTENBAS (_to herself_). It's rather fun selling at a Bazaar; one can let oneself _go_ so much more! (_To the first man she meets._) I'm sure you'll buy one of my buttonholes--now _won't_ you? If I fasten it in for you myself? MR. CADNEY ROWSER. A button'ole, eh? Think I'm not classy enough as I am? MISS D'AUT. I don't think _anyone_ could accuse you of not being "_classy_;" still a flower would just give the finishing-touch. MR. C. R. (_modestly_). Rats!--if you'll pass the reedom. But you've such a way with you that--there--'ow much. MISS D'AUT. Only five shillings. Nothing to _you_! MR. C. R. Five bob? You're a artful girl, _you_ are! "_Fang de Seakale_," and no error! But I'm _on_ it; it's worth the money to 'ave a flower fastened in by such fair 'ands. I won't 'owl--not even if you _do_ run a pin into me.... What? You ain't done a'ready! No _'urry_, yer know.... 'Ere, won't you come along to the refreshment-stall, and 'ave a little something at my expense. Do! MISS D'AUT. I think you must imagine you are talking to a barmaid! MR. C. R. (_with gallantry_). I on'y wish barmaids was 'alf as pleasant and sociable as _you_, Miss. But they're a precious stuck-up lot, _I_ can assure you!