"I could have wept for her, my dear," said Mrs. Potten, addressing an imaginary companion as she went through the court of the Warden's Lodgings to the car, which she had left standing in the street. "I could have wept for her and for the Warden--poor silly man--and he looks so wise," she added incredulously. "And," she went on, "she wouldn't say a word against the girl or against Belinda. Too proud, I suppose." Just as she was getting into the car Harding was passing. He stopped, and in his best manner informed her that his wife had told him that the proceeds of the Sale amounted to ninety-three pounds ten shillings and threepence. "Very good," said Mrs. Potten; "excellent!" "And we are much indebted to our kind friends who patronised the Sale." Mrs. Potten thought of her Buckinghamshire collar and the shilling pincushion that she need not have bought. "I shall tell my wife," said Harding, with much unction, "that you think it very satisfactory." It did indeed seem to Mrs. Potten (whose income was in thousands) that ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and threepence was a very handsome sum for the purpose of assisting fifty or sixty young mothers of the present generation. But she had little time to think of this for just by her, walking past her from the Lodgings, came Miss Gwendolen Scott. Now, what was Mrs. Potten to do? Why, congratulate her, of course! The thing had to be done! She called to Gwendolen, who came to the side of the car all blushes. "She's pleased--that's plain," said Mrs. Potten to herself. But Mrs. Potten was mistaken. Gwendolen's vivid colour came not from the cause which Mrs. Potten imagined. Gwendolen's colour came simply from alarm at the sight of Mrs. Potten and Mr. Harding speaking to one another, and this alarm was not lessened when Mrs. Potten exclaimed-- "Mr. Harding has been telling me that you made ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and threepence from the Sale?" "Oh, did we?" murmured Gwendolen, and her colour came and went away. "We did, thanks to Mrs. Potten's purchases," said Harding, with obsequious playfulness, and he took his leave. Then Mrs. Potten leaned over the car towards Gwendolen and whispered-- "I was waiting till he had gone, as I don't know if you intend all Oxford to know----" Gwendolen's lips were pouted into a terrified expression. "Your engagement, I mean," explained Mrs. Potten. Gwendolen breathed again, and now she laughed. Oh, why had she been so frightened? That silly little affair of yesterday was over, it was dead and buried! It was absolutely safe, and here was the first real proper congratulations and acknowledgment of her importance. "You've got a charming man, very charming," said Mrs. Potten. Gwendolen admitted that she had, and then Mrs. Potten waved her hand and was gone.