"You can go into the parlour," he repeated, as harshly as before; "I'll be with you in a minute."
Mattie went into the parlour, took off the bonnet and shawl that, she had so long forgotten, and which must have added to Mr. Wesden's perplexity, and then sat down, with her face towards the shop, to await her master's pleasure—and displeasure! There was trouble in store for her—perhaps for Harriet—Mr. Wesden had discovered a great deal, and she had to bear the first shock of the storm. She could see Mr. Wesden's face from her position; even at that distance it seemed as if the innumerable lines in it had been cut deeper since she had seen it last, and the heavy grey brows shadowed more completely the eyes. He was not his usual self either—the quick glance of the watcher noticed how his hands shook as he served the customer, and that he fumbled with the change in a manner very new and uncharacteristic for him. His habits, or his caution, had even undergone a change; for, as the news-boy came in at the street-door, he told him to go behind the counter and attend to the customers till he returned. Then he entered the parlour, still flushed and trembling, yet so stern, and leaned his two hands on the table till it creaked beneath the pressure which he put upon it.
"Mattie," he said at last, "I think it's quite time that you and I said good-bye to one another!"
"Oh! sir!—what?" Mattie could only ejaculate.
"I've been thinking it over for some time—putting it off—giving you another trial—hoping that I was even mistaken in you—but things get worse and worse, and this last news is a settler!"
"Mr. Wesden, there must be some mistake."
"No, there isn't—don't interrupt me—don't make any more excuses, for I shan't believe 'em."
"Go on, sir," said Mattie, impetuously, "I don't understand."
"You need not fly in a passion, if you don't," he corrected.
"I'm not in a passion, Mr. Wesden—you will think wrongly of me."