Nobody would bid.

She had muzzled the auctioneer effectually.
"Your own price." "Two pounds," said Rosa.
A dealer offered guineas; and it advanced slowly to four pounds and half a crown, at which it was about to be knocked down to Rosa, when suddenly a new bidder arose in the broker Rosa had rejected.

They bid slowly and sturdily against each other, until a line was given to Rosa from Uncle Philip.
"This time it is your own friend, the snipe-nosed woman.

She telegraphed a broker." Rosa read, and crushed the note.

"Six guineas," said she.
"Six-ten." "Seven." "Seven-ten." "Eight." "Eight-ten." "Ten guineas," said Rosa; and then, with feminine cunning, stealing a sudden glance, caught her friend leaning back and signalling the broker not to give in.
"Eleven pounds." "Twelve." "Thirteen." "Fourteen." "Sixteen." "Eighteen." "Twenty." "Twenty guineas." "It is yours, my faithful friend," said Rosa, turning suddenly round to Mrs.Cole, with a magnificent glance no one would have thought her capable of.
Then she rose and stalked away.
Dumfounded for the moment, Mrs.Cole followed her, and stopped her at the door.
"Why, Rosie dear, it is the only thing I have bid for.