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In the early afternoon she went to Bostock's emporium, at
Hanbridge, to buy the cigar-cabinet and a few domestic trifles.
Bostock's is a good shop. I do not say that it has the classic and
serene dignity of Brunt's, over the way, where one orders one's
dining-room suites and one's frocks for the January dances. But it
is a good shop, and one of the chief glories of the Paris of the
Five Towns. It has frontages in three streets, and it might be
called the shop of the hundred windows. You can buy pretty nearly
anything at Bostock's, from an art nouveau music-stool up to the
highest cheese--for there is a provision department. (You can't
get cheese at Brunt's.)
Vera made her uninteresting purchases first, in the basement, and
then she went up-stairs to the special Christmas department, which
certainly was wonderful: a blaze and splendour of electric light;
a glitter of gilded iridescent toys and knick-knacks; a smiling,
excited, pushing multitude of faces, young and old; and the
cashiers in their cages gathering in money as fast as they could
lay their tired hands on it! A joyous, brilliant scene, calculated
to bring soft tears of satisfaction to the board of directors that
presided over Bostock's. It was a record Christmas for Bostock's.
The electric cars were thundering over the frozen streets of all
the Five Towns to bring customers to Bostock's. Children dreamt of
Bostock's. Fathers went to scoff and remained to pay. Brunt's was
not exactly alarmed, for nothing could alarm Brunt's; but there
was just a sort of suspicion of something in the air at Brunt's
that did not make for odious self-conceit. People seemed to become
intoxicated when they went into Bostock's, to close their heads in
a frenzy of buying.
And there the art nouveau music-stool stood in the corner, where
Vera had originally seen it! She approached it, not thinking of
the terrible danger. The compartments for music lay invitingly
open.
'Four pounds, nine and six, Mrs Cheswardine,' said a shop-walker,
who knew her.
She stopped to finger it.
Well, of course everybody is acquainted with that peculiar ecstasy
that undoubtedly does overtake you in good shops, sometimes,
especially at Christmas. I prefer to call it ecstasy rather than
intoxication, but I have heard it called even drunkenness. It is a
magnificent and overwhelming experience, like a good wine. A blind
instinct seizes your reason and throws her out of the window of
your soul, and then assumes entire control of the volitional
machinery. You listen to no arguments, you care for no
consequences. You want a thing; you must have it; you do have it.
Vera was caught unawares by this magnificent and overwhelming
experience, just as she stooped to finger the music-stool. A fig
for the cigar-cabinet! A fig for her husband's objections! After
all she was a grown-up woman (twenty-nine or thirty), and entitled
to a certain freedom. She was not and would not be a slave. It
would look perfect in the drawing-room.
'I'll take it,' she said.
'Yes, Mrs Cheswardine. A unique thing, quite unique. Penkethman!'
And Vera followed Penkethman to a cash desk and received half-a-
guinea out of a five-pound note.
'I want it carefully packed,' said Vera.
'Yes, ma'am. It will be delivered in the morning.'
She was just beginning to realize that she had been under the
sinister influence of the ecstasy, and that she had not bought the
cigar-cabinet, and that she had practically no more money, and
that Stephen's rule against credit was the strictest of all his
rules, when she caught sight of Mr Charles Woodruff buying toys,
doubtless for his nephews and nieces.
Mr Woodruff was the bachelor friend of the family. He had loved
Vera before Stephen loved her, and he was still attached to her.
Stephen and he were chums of the most advanced kind. Why! Stephen
and Vera thought nothing of bickering in front of Mr Woodruff, who
rated them both and sided with neither.
'Hello!' said Woodruff, flushing, and moving his long, clumsy
limbs when she touched him on the shoulder. 'I'm just buying a few
toys.'
She helped him to buy toys, and then he asked her to go and have
tea with him at the newly-opened Sub Rosa Tea Rooms, in Machin
Street. She agreed, and, in passing the music-stool, gave a small
parcel which she was carrying to Penkethman, and told him he might
as well put it in the music-stool. She was glad to have tea with
Charlie Woodruff. It would distract her, prevent her from
thinking. The ecstasy had almost died out, and she had a violent
desire not to think.
Read next: PART V - VERA'S FIRST CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE: CHAPTER III
Read previous: PART V - VERA'S FIRST CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE: CHAPTER I
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