was not absent; good breeding was more evident than delicacy, yet
delicacy was there; and unity was plain throughout.

George went back to his own side of the shop, jumped the
counter, put the cover on the box he had left open with a bang,
and shoved it into its place as if it had been the backboard of a
cart, shouting as he did so to a boy invisible, to make haste and
put up the shutters. Mary left the shop by a door on the inside
of the counter, for she and her father lived in the house; and,
as soon as the shop was closed, George went home to the villa his
father had built in the suburbs.




CHAPTER II.

CUSTOMERS.


The next day was Saturday, a busy one at the shop. From the
neighboring villages and farms came customers not a few; and
ladies, from the country-seats around, began to arrive as the
hours went on. The whole strength of the establishment was early
called out. Busiest in serving was the senior partner, Mr.
Turnbull. He was a stout, florid man, with a bald crown, a heavy
watch-chain of the best gold festooned across the wide space
between waistcoat-button-hole and pocket, and a large
hemispheroidal carbuncle on a huge fat finger, which yet was his
little one. He was close-shaved, double-chinned, and had