Mary Marston | Page 2

to
grow accustomed to its gloom, the evident size and plenitude of the
shop might well suggest a large hope. It was low, indeed, and the walls
could therefore accommodate few shelves; but the ceiling was therefore
so near as to be itself available for stowage by means of well- contrived
slides and shelves attached to the great beams crossing it in several
directions. During the shop-day, many an article, light as lace, and
heavy as broadcloth, was taken from overhead to lay upon the counter.
The shop had a special reputation for all kinds of linen goods, from
cambric handkerchiefs to towels, and from table-napkins to sheets; but
almost everything was to be found in it, from Manchester moleskins for
the navy's trousers, to Genoa velvet for the dowager's gown, and from
Horrocks's prints to Lyons silks. It had been enlarged at the back, by
building beyond the original plan, and that part of it was a little higher,
and a little better lighted than the front; but the whole place was still
dark enough to have awaked the envy of any swindling London
shopkeeper. Its owners, however, had so long enjoyed the confidence
of the neighborhood, that faith readily took the place of sight with their
customers--so far at least as quality was concerned; and seldom, except
in a question of color or shade, was an article carried to the door to be
confronted with the day. It had been just such a shop, untouched of
even legendary change, as far back as the memory of the sexton
reached; and he, because of his age and his occupation, was the chief
authority in the local history of the place.
As, on this evening, there were few people in the street, so were there
few in the shop, and it was on the point of being closed: they were not

particular there to a good many minutes either way. Behind the counter,
on the left hand, stood a youth of about twenty, young George Turnbull,
the son of the principal partner, occupied in leisurely folding and
putting aside a number of things he had been showing to a farmer's
wife, who was just gone. He was an ordinary-looking lad, with little
more than business in his high forehead, fresh-colored, good-humored,
self-satisfied cheeks, and keen hazel eyes. These last kept wandering
from his not very pressing occupation to the other side of the shop,
where stood, behind the opposing counter, a young woman, in
attendance upon the wants of a well-dressed youth in front of it, who
had just made choice of a pair of driving-gloves. His air and carriage
were conventionally those of a gentleman--a gentleman, however, more
than ordinarily desirous of pleasing a young woman behind a counter.
She answered him with politeness, and even friendliness, nor seemed
aware of anything unusual in his attentions.
"They're splendid gloves," he said, making talk; "but don't you think it
a great price for a pair of gloves, Miss Marston?"
"It is a good deal of money," she answered, in a sweet, quiet voice,
whose very tone suggested simplicity and straightforwardness; "but
they will last you a long time. Just look at the work, Mr. Helmer. You
see how they are made? It is much more difficult to stitch them like that,
one edge over the other, than to sew the two edges together, as they do
with ladies' gloves. But I'll just ask my father whether he marked them
himself."
"He did mark those, I know," said young Turnbull, who had been
listening to all that went on, "for I heard my father say they ought to be
sixpence more."
"Ah, then!" she returned, assentingly, and laid the gloves on the box
before her, the question settled.
Helmer took them, and began to put them on.
"They certainly are the only glove where there is much handling of
reins," he said.

"That is what Mr. Wardour says of them," rejoined Miss Marston.
"By the by," said Helmer, lowering his voice, "when did you see
anybody from Thornwick?"
"Their old man was in the town yesterday with the dog-cart."
"Nobody with him?"
"Miss Letty. She came in for just two minutes or so."
"How was she looking?"
"Very well," answered Miss Marston, with what to Helmer seemed
indifference.
"Ah!" he said, with a look of knowingness, "you girls don't see each
other with the same eyes as we. I grant Letty is not very tall, and I grant
she has not much of a complexion; but where did you ever see such
eyes?"
"You must excuse me, Mr. Helmer," returned Mary, with a smile, "if I
don't choose to discuss Letty's merits with you; she is my friend."
"Where would be the harm?" rejoined Helmer, looking puzzled. "I am
not likely to say