As it was Robert's hand that Mrs Biddle had walked on, it was
decided that he had better not recall the incident to her mind, and
so make her angry again. Anthea and Jane had helped to sell things
at the rival stall, so they were not likely to be popular.

A hasty council of four decided that Mrs Biddle would hate Cyril
less than she would hate the others, so the others mingled with the
crowd, and it was he who said to her--

'Mrs Biddle, WE meant to have that carpet. Would you sell it to
us? We would give you--'

'Certainly not,' said Mrs Biddle. 'Go away, little boy.'

There was that in her tone which showed Cyril, all too plainly, the
hopelessness of persuasion. He found the others and said--

'It's no use; she's like a lioness robbed of its puppies. We must
watch where it goes--and-- Anthea, I don't care what you say. It's
our own carpet. It wouldn't be burglary. It would be a sort of
forlorn hope rescue party--heroic and daring and dashing, and not
wrong at all.'

The children still wandered among the gay crowd--but there was no
pleasure there for them any more. The chorus of singing birds
sounded just like glass tubes being blown through water, and the
phonograph simply made a horrid noise, so that you could hardly
hear yourself speak. And the people were buying things they
couldn't possibly want, and it all seemed very stupid. And Mrs