Dora did not know what more to say. She went on with her work, thinking about it all. Suddenly Lucy astonished her by a question in another voice.
'Have you seen Mr. Grieve's shop, Dora?'
Dora looked up.
'No. Father's been there a good many times. He says it's capital for a beginning and he's sure to get on fast. There's one or two very good sort of customers been coming lately. There's the Earl of Driffield, I think it is—don't you remember, Lucy, it was he gave that lecture with the magic lantern at the Institute you and I went to last summer. He's a queer sort of gentleman. Well, he's been coming several times and giving orders. And there's some of the college gentlemen; oh, and a lot of others. They all seem to think he's so clever, father says—'
'I know the Earl of Driffield quite well,' said Lucy loftily, 'He used to be always coming to our place, and I've tied up his books for him sometimes. I don't see what's good of being an earl—not to go about like that. And father says he's got a grand place near Stalybridge too. Well, if he's gone to Mr. Grieve, father'll be just mad.' Lucy pursed up her small mouth with energy. Dora evaded the subject.
'He says when he's quite settled,' she resumed presently, 'we're to go and have supper with him for a house-warming.'
Lucy looked ready to cry again.
'He couldn't ask me—of course he couldn't,' she said, indistinctly. 'Dora—Dora!'
'Well? Oh, don't mix up my silks, Lucy; I shall never get them right again.'
Lucy reluctantly put them down.