“Alvina!” Miss Pinnegar called discreetly down the shop. “Alvina! Quick!”
Alvina flew down to peep round the corner of the shop window. There stood the two men, Mr. May like a perky, pink-faced grey bird standing cocking his head in attention to James Houghton, and occasionally catching James by the lapel of his coat, in a vain desire to get a word in, whilst James’s head nodded and his face simply wagged with excited speech, as he skipped from foot to foot, and shifted round his listener.
“Who ever can that common-looking man be?” said Miss Pinnegar, her heart going down to her boots.
“I can’t imagine,” said Alvina, laughing at the comic sight.
“Don’t you think he’s dreadful?” said the poor elderly woman.
“Perfectly impossible. Did ever you see such a pink face?”
“And the braid binding!” said Miss Pinnegar in indignation.
“Father might almost have sold him the suit,” said Alvina.
“Let us hope he hasn’t sold your father, that’s all,” said Miss Pinnegar.
The two men had moved a few steps further towards home, and the women prepared to flee indoors. Of course it was frightfully wrong to be standing peeping in the high street at all. But who could consider the proprieties now?