"The fat man there; he said I was a sufferin' angel, or perhaps it was 'nother long word. Let's go an' eat ices or strawberries." Money pouring into cash boxes; sovereigns for buttonholes; notes for foolish trumpery. Royalty, gracious, really charitable, came in the afternoon, made its way through the crush which thronged to watch it, bought lavishly but sensibly, spoke kindly to stall-holders, honoured Dollie and Esmé with special notice. "I hear you got it all up. So good of you. It is one of the hospitals most needed. We went there last week." Small Royalty carries off a box of sweets with the glee of extremely natural childhood; a merry mite; far more simply brought up than shrewd little Lady Pollie. _She_ knew that there were real crippled children, wan, stunted products of the slums, tended and made happy, perhaps cured, in that struggling hospital. She had seen them in their little blue jackets, looking eagerly at her kindly mother and at her as they went from bed to bed. They passed through a curtseying crowd, bought, went on to tea, gracious, kindly people. "They've simply made it," Esmé said. "What a crowd we have. A charming box of sweets. Yes. Souvenir of the Bazaar--boxes specially made--one guinea. Too much? There's a small one for ten shillings; but the Princess took one of the others. Thank you! The big one? Oh, Captain Gore Helmsley--buy sweets?" Jimmie, darkly handsome, his years disguised by careful grooming, strolled by. He stopped to say, laughing, that his digestion could not assimilate chocolates and dragées. Sybil Chauntsey, a glowing little nasturtium, her brown beauty set off by brilliant yellow, came hurrying up, young Knox with her; he had come up to try again. She was selling buttonholes, helping at one of the flower stalls. "I'll buy a flower though," Jimmie turned quickly. "I've only one left," Sybil said, "this yellow carnation. Captain Knox wants it. I was just coming for a pin. Mine have all dropped. It's five shillings." "I'll give you ten," Helmsley said. "Touch it with your lips it shall be a pound." "Two," said Knox, sharply. "An auctioneer!" Esmé clapped her hands. "Well done, Sybil. Come, Captain Helmsley." "Four!" said Helmsley, carelessly. "Five!" A little crowd gathered. Sybil, glowing, laughing, her childish vanity touched by this piece of vulgar advertisement. In her gay yellow and red-striped gown she stood holding up the flower; the nasturtium's head-dress was a hood of vivid green, opening over mock flower petals. "Six!" "Seven!" "Ten!" said Jimmie, carelessly. "Come, that's a fair price for a flower--but I'll go on." Young Knox stopped bidding suddenly, his face growing white. He watched Sybil, laughing brightly, kiss the flower, saw Jimmie Helmsley touch it covertly with his lips where her soft red ones had lain, and hold out the yellow bud to be fastened on. "I win the flower," he said mockingly.