She flitted out of the door so like a spirit, that she was gone almost before Guly was aware she had left her seat. He longed to go to the door and look after her, but a sense of timidity withheld him; and having no customers just then he took down the box which contained her work, under pretence of arranging it more nicely, but in reality to look upon the delicate labor of those rosy fingers once again.
Wilkins was watching him, mischievously, from his desk, and Guly looked up, and caught his eye, with a blush and a smile.
"Tell me, Wilkins, who she is."
"A poor girl, and very pretty."
"And friendless?"
"Only her grandpapa, you heard her say."
"Poor thing, she does this for a living."
"For a living? Yes. And it's a hard one she gets, after all."
"You know all about her! What else? Tell me more."
"She is very good and pure."