"That," said Mr Gallup, loudly and with no little pride, "is Mrs
Ffolliot of Redmarley, the bride."
The customers were all listening, the four assistants were all listening.
Mr Gallup held out his hand to Eloquent, and together they went through the shop and upstairs into the sitting-room, that looked out upon the market-place.
"Dada, is she one of the Classes?" Eloquent inquired, nervously.
"I believe you, my boy," Mr Gallup responded jocosely, "very much so, she is; a regular out and outer."
His father went away chuckling, but Eloquent was much depressed.
He went and stood over against one of the portraits of John Bright and looked at him for help.
"Be just and fear not," said that statesman.
"All very well," thought Eloquent, "she didn't pat your cheek."
He went and sought counsel of Mr Gladstone, a youngish Mr Gladstone in the Free Trade Hall, Manchester: "At last, my friends, I have come amongst you . . . unmuzzled," said the legend underneath his portrait.