"I am doing my best to show my interest by listening to you with both my ears."
"Ah! but you are not giving me your undivided attention. You are knitting, and just now I quite distinctly heard you count five. A fellow cannot talk of his prospects to a girl while she counts five," Mr. Lyons said, in a tone of disgust, and looking round the room appealing to an imaginary audience.
"I will not count again—only just this once. I have made a mistake already;" and Grace wrinkled her forehead and became absorbed in her work for a few moments.
"Miss Rivers, will you really let a fellow talk to you? life and death does not hang upon a few stitches more or less."
"No, but a sock does; and dear Mrs. Dorriman took such pains to teach me to make one."
"You are always knitting," the young man said, discontentedly.
"No; only when I feel very good," she answered, gravely; "then I knit all kinds of things into my sock."
"What sort of things—colours? that thing looks all the same colour to me."
"Oh, I do not mean material things, but sorrow and penitence—and the bitterest repentance," she added the last words in a lower tone, and her eyes were concealed under lowered lids; then she sighed.
Mr. Lyons sighed also, he had a very good idea what she referred to.