The Negro Soldiers' Orphan Bazaar
In the spring days of the early May there came up in London that
year a great bazaar,--a great charity bazaar on behalf of the orphan
children of negro soldiers who had fallen in the American war.
Tidings had come to this country that all slaves taken in the
revolted States had been made free by the Northern invaders, and that
these free men had been called upon to show their immediate gratitude
by becoming soldiers in the Northern ranks. As soldiers they were
killed in battle, or died, and as dead men they left orphans behind
them. Information had come that many of these orphans were starving,
and hence had arisen the cause for the Negro Soldiers' Orphan Bazaar.
There was still in existence at that time, down at South Kensington,
some remaining court or outstanding building which had belonged to
the Great International Exhibition, and here the bazaar was to be
held. I do not know that I can trace the way in which the idea grew
and became great, or that anyone at the time was able to attribute
the honour to the proper founder. Some gave it all to the Prince of
Wales, declaring that his royal highness had done it out of his own
head; and others were sure that the whole business had originated
with a certain philanthropical Mr Manfred Smith who had lately come
up in the world, and was supposed to have a great deal to do with
most things. Be that as it may, this thing did grow and become
great, and there was a list of lady patronesses which included some
duchesses, one marchioness, and half the countesses in London. It was
soon manifest to the eyes of those who understood such things, that
the Negro Soldiers' Orphan Bazaar was to be a success, and therefore
there was no difficulty whatsoever in putting the custody of the
stalls into the hands of proper persons. The difficulty consisted in
rejecting offers from persons who undoubtedly were quite proper for
such an occasion. There came to be interest made for permission to
serve, and boastings were heard of unparalleled success in the bazaar
line. The Duchess of St Bungay had a happy bevy of young ladies who
were to act as counter attendants under her grace; and who so happy
as any young lady who could get herself put upon the duchess's staff?
It was even rumoured that a certain very distinguished person would
have shown herself behind a stall, had not a certain other more
distinguished person expressed an objection; and while the rumour
was afloat as to the junior of those two distinguished persons, the
young-ladydom of London was frantic in its eagerness to officiate.
Now at that time there had become attached to the name of our poor
Griselda a romance with which the west-end of London had become
wonderfully well acquainted. The story of the Lion and the Lamb was
very popular. Mr Maguire may be said to have made himself odious
to the fashionable world at large, and the fate of poor Margaret
Mackenzie with her lost fortune, and the additional misfortune of her
clerical pledged protector, had recommended itself as being truly
interesting to all the feeling hearts of the season. Before May was
over, gentlemen were enticed to dinner parties by being told--and
untruly told--that the Lamb had been "secured;" as on the previous
year they had been enticed by a singular assurance as to Bishop
Colenso; and when Margaret on one occasion allowed herself to be
taken to Covent Garden Theatre, every face from the stalls was turned
towards her between the acts.
Who then was more fit to take a stall, or part of a stall at the
Negro Soldiers' Orphan Bazaar, than our Griselda? When the thing
loomed so large, lady patronesses began to be aware that mere
nobodies would hardly be fit for the work. There would have been
little or no difficulty in carrying out a law that nobody should
take a part in the business who had not some handle to her name, but
it was felt that such an arrangement as that might lead to failure
rather than glory. The commoner world must be represented but it
should be represented only by ladies who had made great names for
themselves. Mrs Conway Sparkes, the spiteful poetess, though she was
old and ugly as well as spiteful, was to have a stall and a bevy,
because there was thought to be no doubt about her poetry. Mrs
Chaucer Munro had a stall and a bevy; but I cannot clearly tell her
claim to distinction, unless it was that she had all but lost her
character four times, but had so saved it on each of those occasions
that she was just not put into the Index Expurgatorius of fashionable
society in London. It was generally said by those young men who
discussed the subject, that among Mrs Chaucer Munro's bevy would
be found the most lucrative fascination of the day. And then Mrs
Mackenzie was asked to take a stall, or part of a stall, and to bring
Griselda with her as her assistant. By this time the Lamb was most
generally known as "Griselda" among fashionable people.
Now Mrs Mackenzie was herself a woman of fashion, and quite open to
the distinction of having a part assigned to her at the great bazaar
of the season. She did not at all object to a booth on the left hand
of the Duchess of St Bungay, although it was just opposite to Mrs
Chaucer Munro. She assented at once.
"But you must positively bring Griselda," said Lady Glencora
Palliser, by whom the business of this mission was conducted.
"Of course, I understand that," said Mrs Mackenzie. "But what if she
won't come?"
"Griseldas are made to do anything," said Lady Glencora, "and of
course she must come."
Having settled the difficulty in this way, Lady Glencora went her
way, and Mrs Mackenzie did not allow Griselda to go to her rest that
night till she had extracted from her a promise of acquiescence,
which, I think, never would have been given had Miss Mackenzie
understood anything of the circumstances under which her presence was
desired.
But the promise was given, and Margaret knew little or nothing of
what was expected from her till there came up, about a fortnight
before the day of the bazaar, the great question of her dress for
the occasion. Previous to that she would fain have been energetic in
collecting and making things for sale at her stall, for she really
taught herself to be anxious that the negro soldiers' orphans
should have provision made for them; but, alas! her energy was
all repressed, and she found that she was not to be allowed to do
anything in that direction.
"Things of that sort would not go down at all now-a-days, Margaret,"
said Mrs Mackenzie. "Nobody would trouble themselves to carry them
away. There are tradesmen who furnish the stalls, and mark their
own prices, and take back what is not sold. You charge double the
tradesman's price, that's all."
Margaret, when her eyes were thus opened, of course ceased to make
little pincushions, but she felt that her interest in the thing was
very much lowered. But a word must be said as to that question of
the dress. Miss Mackenzie, when she was first interrogated as to her
intentions, declared her purpose of wearing a certain black silk
dress which had seen every party at Mrs Stumfold's during Margaret's
Littlebath season. To this her cousin demurred, and from demurring
proceeded to the enunciation of a positive order. The black silk
dress in question should not be worn. Now Miss Mackenzie chose to be
still in mourning on the second of June, the day of the bazaar, her
brother having died in September, and had no fitting garment, so she
said, other than the black silk in question. Whereupon Mrs Mackenzie,
without further speech to her cousin on the subject, went out and
purchased a muslin covered all over with the prettiest little frecks
of black, and sent a milliner to Margaret, and provided a bonnet of
much the same pattern, the gayest, lightest, jauntiest, falsest,
most make-belief-mourning bonnet that ever sprang from the art of a
designer in bonnets--and thus nearly broke poor Margaret's heart.
"People should never have things given them, who can't buy for
themselves," she said, with tears in her eyes, "because of course
they know what it means."
"But, my dearest," said Mrs Mackenzie, "young ladies who never have
any money of their own at all always accept presents from all their
relations. It is their special privilege."
"Oh, yes, young ladies; but not women like me who are waiting to find
out whether they are ruined or not."
The difficulty, however, was at last overcome, and Margaret, with
many inward upbraidings of her conscience, consented to wear the
black-freckled dress.
"I never saw anybody look so altered in my life," said Mrs Mackenzie,
when Margaret, apparelled, appeared in the Cavendish Square
drawing-room on the morning in question. "Oh, dear, I hope Sir John
Ball will come to look at you."
"Nonsense! he won't be such a fool as to do anything of the kind."
"I took care to let him know that you would be there;" said Mrs
Mackenzie.
"You didn't?"
"But I did, my dear."
"Oh, dear, what will he think of me?" ejaculated Margaret; but
nevertheless I fancy that there must have been some elation in her
bosom when she regarded herself and the freckled muslin in the glass.
Both Mrs Mackenzie and Miss Mackenzie had more than once gone down
to the place to inspect the ground and make themselves familiar with
the position they were to take. There were great stalls and little
stalls, which came alternately; and the Mackenzie stall stood next
to a huge centre booth at which the duchess was to preside. On their
other hand was the stall of old Lady Ware, and opposite to them, as
has been before said, the doubtful Mrs Chaucer Munro was to hold
difficult sway over her bevy of loud nymphs. Together with Mrs
Mackenzie were two other Miss Mackenzies, sisters of her husband,
handsome, middle-aged women, with high cheek-bones and fine
brave-looking eyes. All the Mackenzies, except our Griselda, were
dressed in the tartan of their clan; and over the stall there was
some motto in Gaelic, "Dhu dhaith donald dhuth," which nobody could
understand, but which was not the less expressive. Indeed, the
Mackenzie stall was got up very well; but then was it not known and
understood that Mrs Mackenzie did get up things very well? It was
acknowledged on all sides that the Lamb, Griselda, was uncommonly
well got up on this occasion.
It was understood that the ladies were to be assembled in the bazaar
at half-past two, and that the doors were to be thrown open to the
public at three o'clock. Soon after half-past two Mrs Mackenzie's
carriage was at the door, and the other Mackenzies having come up at
the same time, the Mackenzie phalanx entered the building together.
There were many others with them, but as they walked up they found
the Countess of Ware standing alone in the centre of the building,
with her four daughters behind her. She had on her head a wonderful
tiara, which gave to her appearance a ferocity almost greater than
was natural to her. She was a woman with square jaws, and a big face,
and stout shoulders: but she was not, of her own unassisted height,
very tall. But of that tiara and its altitude she was proud, and as
she stood in the midst of the stalls, brandishing her umbrella-sized
parasol in her anger, the ladies, as they entered, might well be
cowed by her presence.
"When ladies say half-past two," said she, "they ought to come at
half-past two. Where is the Duchess of St Bungay? I shall not wait
for her."
But there was a lady there who had come in behind the Mackenzies,
whom nothing ever cowed. This was the Lady Glencora Palliser, the
great heiress who had married the heir of a great duke, pretty,
saucy, and occasionally intemperate, in whose eyes Lady Ware with her
ferocious tiara was simply an old woman in a ridiculous head-gear.
The countess had apparently addressed herself to Mrs Mackenzie, who
had been the foremost to enter the building, and our Margaret had
already begun to tremble. But Lady Glencora stepped forward, and took
the brunt of the battle upon herself.
"Nobody ever yet was so punctual as my Lady Ware," said Lady
Glencora.
"It is very annoying to be kept waiting on such occasions," said the
countess.
"But my dear Lady Ware, who keeps you waiting? There is your stall,
and why on earth should you stand here and call us all over as we
come in, like naughty schoolboys?"
"The duchess said expressly that she would be here at half-past two."
"Who ever expects the dear duchess to keep her word?" said Lady
Glencora.
"Or whoever cared whether she does or does not?" said Mrs Chaucer
Munro, who, with her peculiar bevy, had now made her way up among the
front rank.
Then to have seen the tiara of Lady Ware, as it wagged and nodded
while she looked at Mrs Munro, and to have witnessed the high
moral tone of the ferocity with which she stalked away to her own
stall with her daughters behind her,--a tragi-comedy which it was
given to no male eyes to behold,--would have been worth the whole
after-performance of the bazaar. No male eyes beheld that scene, as
Mr Manfred Smith, the manager, had gone out to look for his duchess,
and missing her carriage in the crowd, did not return till the bazaar
had been opened. That Mrs Chaucer Munro did not sink, collapsed,
among her bevy, must have been owing altogether to that callousness
which a long habit of endurance produces. Probably she did feel
something as at the moment there came no titter from any other bevy
corresponding to the titter which was raised by her own. She and
her bevy retired to their allotted place, conscious that their time
for glory could not come till the male world should appear upon the
scene. But Lady Ware's tiara still wagged and nodded behind her
counter, and Margaret, looking at her, thought that she must have
come there as the grand duenna of the occasion.
Just at three o'clock the poor duchess hurried into the building in
a terrible flurry, and went hither and thither among the stalls, not
knowing at first where was her throne. Unkind chance threw her at
first almost into the booth of Mrs Conway Sparkes, the woman whom of
all women she hated the most; and from thence she recoiled into the
arms of Lady Hartletop who was sitting serene, placid, and contented
in her appointed place.
"Opposite, I think, duchess," Mrs Conway Sparkes had said. "We are
only the small fry here."
"Oh, ah; I beg pardon. They told me the middle, to the left."
"And this is the middle to the right," said Mrs Conway Sparkes. But
the duchess had turned round since she came in, and could not at all
understand where she was.
"Under the canopy, duchess," just whispered Lady Hartletop. Lady
Hartletop was a young woman who knew her right hand from her left
under all circumstances of life, and who never made any mistakes.
The duchess looked up in her confusion to the centre of the ceiling,
but could see no canopy. Lady Hartletop had done all that could
be required of her, and if the duchess were to die amidst her
difficulties it would not be her fault. Then came forth the Lady
Glencora, and with true charity conducted the lady-president to her
chair, just in time to avoid the crush, which ensued upon the opening
of the doors.
The doors were opened, and very speedily the space of the bazaar
between the stalls became too crowded to have admitted the safe
passage of such a woman as the Duchess of St Bungay; but Lady
Glencora, who was less majestic in her size and gait, did not find
herself embarrassed. And now there arose, before the general work of
fleecing the wether lambs had well commenced, a terrible discord, as
of a brass band with broken bassoons, and trumpets all out of order,
from the further end of the building,--a terrible noise of most
unmusical music, such as Bartholomew Fair in its loudest days could
hardly have known. At such a diapason one would have thought that the
tender ears of May Fair and Belgravia would have been crushed and
cracked and riven asunder; that female voices would have shrieked,
and the intensity of fashionable female agony would have displayed
itself in all its best recognised forms. But the crash of brass was
borne by them as though they had been rough schoolboys delighting
in a din. The duchess gave one jump, and then remained quiet and
undismayed. If Lady Hartletop heard it, she did not betray the
hearing. Lady Glencora for a moment put her hands to her ears as
she laughed, but she did it as though the prettiness of the motion
were its only one cause. The fine nerves of Mrs Conway Sparkes, the
poetess, bore it all without flinching; and Mrs Chaucer Munro with
her bevy rushed forward so that they might lose nothing of what was
coming.
"What are they going to do?" said Margaret to her cousin, in alarm.
"It's the play part of the thing. Have you not seen the bills?" Then
Margaret looked at a great placard which was exhibited near to her,
which, though by no means intelligible to her, gave her to understand
that there was a show in progress. The wit of the thing seemed
to consist chiefly in the wonderful names chosen. The King of
the Cannibal Islands was to appear on a white charger. King
Chrononhotonthologos was to be led in chains by Tom Thumb. Achilles
would drag Hector thrice round the walls of Troy; and Queen Godiva
would ride through Coventry, accompanied by Lord Burghley and the
ambassador from Japan. It was also signified that in some back part
of the premises a theatrical entertainment would be carried on
throughout the afternoon, the King of the Cannibal Islands, with his
royal brother and sister Chrononhotonthologos and Godiva, taking
principal parts; but as nobody seemed to go to the theatre the
performers spent their time chiefly in making processions through and
amidst the stalls, when, as the day waxed hot, and the work became
heavy, they seemed to be taken much in dudgeon by the various bevies
with whose business they interfered materially.
On this, their opening march, they rushed into the bazaar with great
energy, and though they bore no resemblance to the characters named
in the playbill, and though there was among them neither a Godiva,
a Hector, a Tom Thumb, or a Japanese, nevertheless, as they were
dressed in paint and armour after the manner of the late Mr
Richardson's heroes, and as most of the ladies had probably been
without previous opportunity of seeing such delights, they had their
effect. When they had made their twenty-first procession the thing
certainly grew stale, and as they brought with them an infinity of
dirt, they were no doubt a nuisance. But no one would have been
inclined to judge these amateur actors with harshness who knew how
much they themselves were called on to endure, who could appreciate
the disgusting misery of a hot summer afternoon spent beneath dust
and paint and tin-plate armour, and who would remember that the
performers received payment neither in _eclat_ nor in thanks, nor
even in the smiles of beauty.
"Can't somebody tell them not to come any more?" said the duchess,
almost crying with vexation towards the end of the afternoon.
Then Mr Manfred Smith, who managed everything, went to the rear, and
the king and warriors were sent away to get beer or cooling drinks at
their respective clubs.
Poor Mr Manfred Smith! He had not been present at the moment in which
he was wanted to lead the duchess to her stall, and the duchess never
forgave him. Instead of calling him by his name from time to time,
and enabling him to shine in public as he deserved to shine,--for he
had worked at the bazaar for the last six weeks as no professional
man ever worked at his profession,--the duchess always asked for
"somebody" when she wanted Mr Smith, and treated him when he came
as though he had been a servant hired for the occasion. One very
difficult job of work was given to him before the day was done; "I
wish you'd go over to those young women," said the duchess, "and say
that if they make so much noise, I must go away."
The young women in question were Mrs Chaucer Munro and her bevy, and
the commission was one which poor Manfred Smith found it difficult to
execute.
"Mrs Munro," said he, "you'll be sorry to hear--that the duchess--has
got--a headache, and she thinks we all might be a little quieter."
The shouts of the loud nymphs were by this time high. "Pooh!" said
one of them. "Headache indeed!" said another. "Bother her head!" said
a third. "If the duchess is ill, perhaps she had better retire,"
said Mrs Chaucer Munro. Then Mr Manfred Smith walked off sorrowfully
towards the door, and seating himself on the stool of the money-taker
by the entrance, wiped off the perspiration from his brow. He had
already put on his third pair of yellow kid gloves for the occasion,
and they were soiled and torn and disreputable; his polished boots
were brown with dust; the magenta ribbon round his neck had become a
moist rope; his hat had been thrown down and rumpled; a drop of oil
had made a spot upon his trousers; his whiskers were draggled and out
of order, and his mouth was full of dirt. I doubt if Mr Manfred Smith
will ever undertake to manage another bazaar.
The duchess I think was right in her endeavour to mitigate the riot
among Mrs Munro's nymphs. Indeed there was rioting among other nymphs
than hers, though her noise and their noise was the loudest; and it
was difficult to say how there should not be riot, seeing what was to
be the recognised manner of transacting business. At first there was
something of prettiness in the rioting. The girls, who went about
among the crowd, begging men to put their hands into lucky bags,
trading in rose-buds, and asking for half-crowns for cigar lighters,
were fresh in their muslins, pretty with their braided locks, and
perhaps not impudently over-pressing in their solicitations to male
strangers. While they were not as yet either aweary or habituated
to the necessity of importunity, they remembered their girlhood and
their ladyhood, their youth and their modesty, and still carried with
them something of the bashfulness of maidenhood; and the young men,
the wether lambs, were as yet flush with their half-crowns, and the
elder sheep had not quite dispensed the last of their sovereigns or
buttoned up their trousers pockets. But as the work went on, and the
dust arose, and the prettinesses were destroyed, and money became
scarce, and weariness was felt, and the heat showed itself, and the
muslins sank into limpness, and the ribbons lost their freshness,
and braids of hair grew rough and loose, and sidelocks displaced
themselves--as girls became used to soliciting and forgetful of their
usual reticences in their anxiety for money, the charm of the thing
went, and all was ugliness and rapacity. Young ladies no longer moved
about, doing works of charity; but harpies and unclean birds were
greedy in quest of their prey.
"Put a letter in my post-office," said one of Mrs Munro's bevy, who
officiated in a postal capacity behind a little square hole, to a
young man on whom she pounced out and had caught him and brought up,
almost with violence.
The young man tendered some scrap of paper and a sixpence.
"Only sixpence!" said the girl.
A cabman could not have made the complaint with a more finished
accent of rapacious disgust.
"Never mind," said the girl, "I'll give you an answer."
Then, with inky fingers and dirty hands, she tendered him some
scrawl, and demanded five shillings postage. "Five shillings!" said
the young man. "Oh, I'm d----"
Then he gave her a shilling and walked away. She ventured to give one
little halloa after him, but she caught the duchess's eye looking at
her, and was quiet.
I don't think there was much real flirting done. Men won't flirt with
draggled girls, smirched with dust, weary with work, and soiled with
heat; and especially they will not do so at the rate of a shilling a
word. When the whole thing was over, Mrs Chaucer Munro's bevy, lying
about on the benches in fatigue before they went away, declared
that, as far as they were concerned, the thing was a mistake. The
expenditure in gloves and muslin had been considerable, and the
returns to them had been very small. It is not only that men will
not flirt with draggled girls, but they will carry away with them
unfortunate remembrances of what they have seen and heard. Upon the
whole it may be doubted whether any of the bevies were altogether
contented with the operations on the occasion of the Negro Soldiers'
Orphan Bazaar.
Miss Mackenzie had been, perhaps, more fortunate than some of the
others. It must, however, be remembered that there are two modes
of conducting business at these bazaars. There is the travelling
merchant, who roams about, and there is the stationary merchant, who
remains always behind her counter. It is not to be supposed that the
Duchess of St Bungay spent the afternoon rushing about with a lucky
bag. The duchess was a stationary trader, and so were all the ladies
who belonged to the Mackenzie booth. Miss Mackenzie, the lamb, had
been much regarded, and consequently the things at her disposal had
been quickly sold. It had all seemed to her to be very wonderful, and
as the fun grew fast and furious, as the young girls became eager
in their attacks, she made up her mind that she would never occupy
another stall at a bazaar. One incident, and but one, occurred to her
during the day; and one person came to her that she knew, and but
one. It was nearly six, and she was beginning to think that the weary
work must soon be over, when, on a sudden, she found Sir John Ball
standing beside her.
"Oh, John!" she said, startled by his presence, "who would have
thought of seeing you here?"
"And why not me as well as any other fool of my age?"
"Because you think it is foolish," she answered, "and I suppose the
others don't."
"Why should you say that I think it foolish? At any rate, I'm glad to
see you looking so nice and happy."
"I don't know about being happy," said Margaret,--"or nice either for
the matter of that."
But there was a smile on her face as she spoke, and Sir John smiled
also when he saw it.
"Doesn't she look well in that bonnet?" said Mrs Mackenzie, turning
round to the side of the counter at which he was standing. "It was my
choice, and I absolutely made her wear it. If you knew the trouble I
had!"
"It is very pretty," said Sir John.
"Is it not? And are you not very much obliged to me? I'm sure
you ought to be, for nobody before has ever taken the trouble of
finding out what becomes her most. As for herself, she's much too
well-behaved a young woman to think of such vanities."
"Not at present, certainly," said Margaret.
"And why not at present? She looks on those lawyers and their work as
though there was something funereal about them. You ought to teach
her better, Sir John."
"All that will be over in a day or two now," said he.
"And then she will shake off her dowdiness and her gloom together,"
said Mrs Mackenzie. "Do you know I fancy she has a liking for pretty
things at heart as well as another woman."
"I hope she has," said he.
"Of course you do. What is a woman worth without it? Don't be angry,
Margaret, but I say a woman is worth nothing without it, and Sir
John will agree with me if he knows anything about the matter. But,
Margaret, why don't you make him buy something? He can't refuse you
if you ask him."
If Miss Mackenzie could thereby have provided for all the negro
soldiers' orphans in existence, I do not think that she could at that
moment have solicited him to make a purchase.
"Come, Sir John," continued Mrs Mackenzie, "you must buy something of
her. What do you say to this paper-knife?"
"How much does the paper-knife cost?" said he, still smiling. It was
a large, elaborate, and perhaps, I may say, unwieldy affair, with a
great elephant at the end of it.
"Oh! that is terribly dear," said Margaret, "it costs two pounds
ten."
Thereupon he put his hand into his pocket, and taking out his purse,
gave her a five-pound note.
"We never give change," said Mrs Mackenzie: "do we, Margaret?"
"I'll give him change," said Margaret.
"I'll be extravagant for once," said Sir John, "and let you keep the
whole."
"Oh, John!" said Margaret.
"You have no right to scold him yet," said Mrs Mackenzie.
Margaret, when she heard this, blushed up to her forehead, and in her
confusion forgot all about the paper-knife and the money. Sir John, I
fancy, was almost as much confused himself, and was quite unable to
make any fitting reply. But, just at that moment, there came across
two harpies from the realms of Mrs Chaucer Munro, eagerly intent upon
their prey.
"Here are the lion and the lamb together," said one harpy. "The lion
must buy a rose to give to the lamb. Sir Lion, the rose is but a
poor half-crown." And she tendered him a battered flower, leering
at him from beneath her draggled, dusty bonnet as she put forth her
untempting hand for the money.
"Sir Lion, Sir Lion," said the other harpy, "I want your name for a
raffle."
But the lion was off, having pushed the first harpy aside somewhat
rudely. That tale of the Lion and the Lamb had been very terrible to
him; but never till this occasion had any one dared to speak of it
directly to his face. But what will not a harpy do who has become
wild and dirty and disgusting in the pursuit of half-crowns?
"Now he is angry," said Margaret. "Oh, Mrs Mackenzie, why did you say
that?"
"Yes; he is angry," said Mrs Mackenzie, "but not with you or me. Upon
my word, I thought he would have pushed that girl over; and if he
had, he would only have served her right."
"But why did you say that? You shouldn't have said it."
"About your not scolding him yet? I said it, my dear, because I
wanted to make myself certain. I was almost certain before, but now I
am quite certain."
"Certain of what, Mrs Mackenzie?"
"That you'll be a baronet's wife before me, and entitled to be taken
out of a room first as long as dear old Sir Walter is alive."
Soon after that the bazaar was brought to an end, and it was supposed
to have been the most successful thing of the kind ever done in
London. Loud boasts were made that more than eight hundred pounds had
been cleared; but whether any orphans of any negro soldiers were ever
the better for the money I am not able to say.