"No."
"Then," bundling on to his box, and lashing his horse ferociously, "I won't waste my time on a tailor—it's much too valuable for that!"
The young man laughs at this withering sarcasm, and passes through the shop into the parlour, where the animation has scarcely found time to subside.
Harriet Wesden is holding Mattie at arm's length, and looking steadily at her—the stationer's daughter is taller by a head than the stray.
"And you, Mattie, have been improving, I see—learning all the lessons that I set you before I went away—becoming of help to father and mother, and thinking of poor me sometimes."
"Ah! very often of 'poor me.'"
"Oh! how tired I am!—how glad I shall be to find myself in my room! Now, Mr. Sidney, I'm going to bid you good night at once, thanking you for all past services."
"Very well, Miss Harriet."
"And, goodness me!—I did not notice those things before! What! spectacles, Sidney—at your age?"
The tall young man colours and laughs—keeping his position at the door-post all the while.