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Updated: June 27, 2025
Lapham turned a hapless glance upon Penelope. "Go and tell him, mother," said the girl. "I would, if I could. If she can walk, let her. It's the only thing for her." She sat still; she did not even brush to the floor the fantastic thing that lay in her lap, and that sent up faintly the odour of the sachet powder with which Irene liked to perfume her boxes.
She had spent the time since breakfast in putting her bureau drawers to rights, scattering sachet powders in them, then leaving them open so as to perfume the room. At last she came into the front "upstairs sitting-room," a heap of gloves, stockings, collarettes the odds and ends of a wildly disordered wardrobe in her lap.
The aroma of new-sawn timber and sawdust began to be mingled with the feminine odour of sachet and flowers. There was a babel of talk in the air male baritone and soprano chatter varied by an occasional note of laughter and the swish of stiffly starched petticoats. On the row of chairs that went around three sides of the wall groups began to settle themselves.
I went to see Ellen Wiggins and Sallie Moore yesterday afternoon. Neither of them use perfume. Sallie Moore told me she had an orris root sachet that had almost lost its scent. Which reminds me," she continued, "why couldn't this handkerchief have been scented by some other means than just perfume. Perhaps it was put into a mouchoir case with sandalwood powder." "Why, of course," exclaimed Grace.
I am no bundle of sawdust, Mademoiselle, though once you got the better of me, but a man; a man with an arm to shield and a brain to serve, and as I am going to teach you a heart also! She shivered. 'In the orange-coloured sachet that you lost I believe that there were eighteen stones of great value? She made no answer, but she looked at me as if I fascinated her.
"Not this kind." "She smelled of something kind of sweet and sticky. What was it? "Sachet powder, I guess, or some kind of perfume." "I liked the smell. Can we get some?" "I guess so we've got the price." "Next time you see her, ask her what it is, will you?" "All right," answered Juliet, unperturbed by the request. The rest of the way was enlivened by a discussion of automobiles.
I could tell you, now, every item of its varied contents, the perfumed sachet, the ugly little pincushion which she had had since dollhood, the little scraps from her favourite poets, which she had copied out and kept in this sacred repository, never revealing them save to sympathising eyes.
"...I detest painted satin! Can't think why I bought that ridiculous sachet. It will have to go on to the next bazaar." "...That makes my twenty-third bag! Rather a sweet, though, isn't he? It will go with my grey dress." "This is awful! I'm not getting on at all. I can't decently spend less than five pounds. For goodness' sake tell me what to buy!" "Can't think why people give bazaars!
And, to prove the truth of what I said, I showed her the sachet over my heart containing his rose. "It's perfectly wonderfull," Jane said, in an awed tone. "You beat anything I've ever known for Adventures. You are the tipe men like, for one thing.
About the halls and stairs one caught brief glimpses of white and blue opera cloaks edged with swan's-down alternating with the gleam of a starched shirt bosom and the glint of a highly polished silk hat. Odours of sachet and violets came and went elusively or mingled with those of the roses and pinks. An air of gayety and excitement began to spread throughout the house. "Hello, old man!"
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