"Oh, please don't go," cried Polly, flying after the irate customer; "I
don't really believe the pretty things are hurt. Do just come back and see,
please."
The other lady was standing irresolutely by the lounge, but she wouldn't
even look at the centerpieces that Miss Angell was smoothing out with a
despairing hand, preparing to put them into their boxes again.
"It was clean sugar," Polly ran on, feeling quite sure if she stopped
talking, that all hope was lost.
"But they are mussed," began the lady by the door, very decidedly.
Alexia was huddling up her bundle quite gone in despair, and lost to all
the distress of having no candy to take to the Cooking Club supper. If
those two ladies would only buy the centerpieces they had selected, it was
all she hoped for in this world.
"No, indeed! Come, Sister!" and she opened the door. "Why, Mrs. Alexander!"
Mrs. Alexander, a portly person, with a great deal of black jet and lace,
that seemed to be always catching in the apparel of those who passed her,
worked her way into the small shop, and up past the knot of people, giving
friendly nods of recognition on her way.
"How d'ye do, Miss Ellicott, Miss Juliana. How are you, Polly? And, Alexia,
how is your aunt?" And without waiting for a reply, she sprang, if such a
ponderous body could be said to spring, at the box of centerpieces Miss
Angell was packing away.
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