From five to seven o’clock on Saturdays M. Tod and her assistant did a fairly brisk trade in newspapers; thereafter, as Christina often thought, but refrained from saying, it was scarcely worth while keeping the shop open: A stray customer or two was all that might be expected during the last hour, and Christina was wont to occupy herself and it by tidying up for Sunday, while M. Tod from the sitting-room bleated her conviction, based on nothing but a fair imagination and a bad memory, that the Saturday night business was not what it had been twenty years ago. The old woman invariably got depressed at the end of the week; she had come to grudge the girl’s absence even for a day. Christina was counting up some unsold periodicals, chattering cheerfully the while on the ethics of modern light literature. The door opened with a suddenness that suggested a pounce, and a young woman, whom Christina could not recollect having seen before, started visibly at the bang of the bell, recovered herself, and closed the door carefully. It was Christina’s habit to sum up roughly the more patent characteristics of new customers almost before they reached the counter. In the present case her estimate was as follows: “Handsome for the money; conceited, but not proud.” “Good-evening,” she said politely. “Evenin’,” replied the other, her dark eyes making a swift survey of the shop. She threw open her jacket, already unbuttoned, disclosing a fresh white shirt, a scarlet bow and a silver belt. Touching the belt, she said: “I think this was got in your shop.” Christina bent forward a little way. “Perhaps,” she said pleasantly. “I couldn’t say for certain. We’ve sold several of these belts, but of course we haven’t the monopoly.” It may have been that the young woman fancied she was being chaffed. Other customers less unfamiliar with Christina had fancied the same thing. At all events her tone sharpened. “But I happen to ken it was got here.” “Then it _was_ got here,” said Christina equably. “Do you wish to buy another the same? I’m sorry we’re out of them at present, but we could procure one for you within――――” “No, thanks. An’ I didna buy this one, either. It was bought by a young gentleman friend of mines.” “Oh, indeed!” Christina murmured sympathetically. Then her eyes narrowed slightly. “I came to see if you could change it,” the young woman proceeded. “It’s miles too wide. Ye can see that for yersel’.” “They are worn that way at present,” said Christina, with something of an effort. “Maybe. But I prefer it tight-fittin’. Of course I admit I’ve an extra sma’ waist.” “Yes――smaller than they are worn at present.” “I beg your pardon!” “Granted,” said Christina absently. She was trying to think of more than one male customer to whom she had sold a belt. But there had been only one. The dark eyes of the young woman glimmered with malignant relish.