She sold more flowers than any other girl at the bazaar that night, and there she met Mr. Sutton, who had, indeed, called upon her, but at a time when she was out. This guaranteed man was rather short, stocky, and common-place-looking, with a large, round, beardless face, and a long, newly shaven upper lip. But his appearance made no difference; Dosia’s radiant happiness flowed over on him with impartial delight, and if she sold many flowers, it was he who bought most of them, presenting them to her again afterwards, so that one corner of the room was heaped up with her spoils, and her arms were full of roses. She trailed around the crowded room with him in her blue gown, as he had insisted on her advice in buying, and received gifts of books and candy in the interests of organized charity. It was like being in the Arabian Nights to have inconsequent gifts showered upon one in this way, but she succeeded in dissuading him from offering her a large green and pink flowered plaque of local art, and was relieved when he gave it to the lady who had it for sale. “A bachelor has use for so few things, Miss Linden,” he said apologetically. “Each lady makes me promise—weeks beforehand—to come and buy from her especial table. If they would only have something I _could_ want,”—he looked at her humorously,—“it would be easy enough to keep my word. Why don’t they ever sell things a man can use? But look for yourself, Miss Linden—it’s charity to help me out.” He paused irresolutely by a yellow-draped table. “Might you like some sewing-bags, now, or this piece of linen with little holes in it, or any of these—plush arrangements?” “No!” said Dosia, laughing and shaking her head, “I mightn’t.” “Or a doll, now?” He had strayed a step farther on. “Would you like a doll for Mrs. Alexander’s little girl, and some of these charming toys?”