“Oh, true—true, I had forgotten. But never mind, madam, send them up, I think I shall be at home—yes, I am sure, quite sure I shall be at home! I have postponed my departure till the next day.” “I will certainly send them.” The Major lingered an instant over the glass case, and then buttoning up his overcoat, prepared to go. “Good evening, Mrs. Phelps.” “Good evening, sir.” “You will be sure and send them?” “You shall not be disappointed, Major.” “Very well.” Major Pierpoint took three decided steps towards the door and then turned. “Twelve o’clock, Mrs. Phelps.” “Yes sir, they shall be there precisely.” The Major still did not move. There was evidently something he wished to say more, but was at a loss how to say it. All at once he turned back to the counter. “By-the-bye, Mrs. Phelps, you may, if you please, let the same young person bring them that took the linens. That old woman, the last time she came, like to have broke her neck by catching her foot in the brass stair band. Besides, she is deaf as a post.” “I will send Mary, then,” said Mrs. Phelps, smiling. “You are very obliging, my dear madam. Good evening.” And Major Pierpoint walked out of the shop with a free, light step, and a bland smile illumining his handsome features. Mrs. Phelps followed him with her eyes, and then put on a very thoughtful look, and for a few moments seemed to be communing with her own mind. Suddenly she laid one fore-finger down upon the other with emphasis. “Yes, ’tis clear as that gas-light! I can see as deep as some folks can. He is not above forty, rich, respectable, and kind and pleasant-hearted as a child, and Mary’s beauty has evidently made an impression upon him. He is a bachelor, and old bachelors often fall in love with young girls! I do believe, now I think it all over, he is in love with her. But then, he is so rich and respectable! But Mary isn’t my daughter; how does he or any body know but she is respectable as he is himself? Plainly, there is something at the bottom of all this. Major Pierpoint is too honorable and moral for me to apprehend any evil coming out of it. Mary shall go up to-morrow, looking her best. Who knows what may happen? The poor child is not mine, but then I wish her to do as well as she can. I wonder what he said to her this evening. Mary, dear, come here child.” Mary came forward with a half finished linen collar in her hands. “Well, dear, what did Miss Clayton say to the handkerchiefs you took to her?” “She said they were very neatly done, but that the price was too high—and told me she could not pay the bill unless you took off the ‘nineteen cents!’”