"So I have heard to-day," he replied, a little gloomily. "Never mind, child," he added, attempting to cheer up, and a rueful attempt it turned out, "never mind, I dare-say there's room for two." He said it, but he knew it was not true; he knew there was room but for one, and that if two came, why, either both must perish after a fierce contest, or one survive and triumph over the ruin of the other's all. He knew it, and groaned at the thought. "I wish you wouldn't father," said Mary, again beginning to cry. "Mary, my pet, I can't help it," said Jones, fairly giving way to feelings too long repressed; "there aint room for two, that's the plain truth of it, and if another grocer comes, why, he must ruin me, or I must ruin him; and that aint pleasant to think of, is it?" Mary was not without spirit. "Father," she cried resolutely, "if it's to be, why, it's to be, and it can't be helped; but I wouldn't give in without trying to get the upper hand, that I wouldn't." Her father shook his head disconsolately. "Child," he said, "it's like setting an old horse against a mettlesome young one. That new fellow has got every advantage. Look at his shop, then look at mine; why, his is twice as big again. Look at his front-- all plate glass; look at his counters--all polished oak!" "Well, and can't you get the shop--our shop--done up too?" ambitiously asked Mary. "There's time yet." "Why yes, there is--but the money, Mary dear!" "Never mind the money." "No more I would, my pet, if I had got it; but you see, the one pound ten a week hasn't kept up; and those things cost a precious deal." Mary reflected a while. "S'pose," she suggested, "you got in a fresh stock of jams in glass jars, for the front window." "And what shall we do with the old?" "Eat them. And s'pose you add a few pots of pickles?" "Pickles!" echoed Jones, looking doubtful. "And s'pose," continued Mary, "you add macaroni, and sauces, and set up as a superior grocer." Jones scratched his head. "Law, child!" he said, "this aint a stylish neighbourhood--and who'll buy my macaroni and my sauces?" "Why no one, of course," superciliously replied Mary. "It's not to sell them, you want them; it's for the look of the thing--to be a superior grocer, you know." The words "superior grocer," gently tickled secret ambition. Mr. Richard Jones seriously promised his daughter to think about it. Mary had other thoughts, which she did not communicate to her father; and of these thoughts, the chief was to find out what had become of Mr. Saunders, and return to the old plan of enticing him into partnership. She was so full of this project, that, partly to get assistance, partly to take a little consequence on herself, she imparted it, under the strictest secrecy, to Rachel Gray; and at the close, she pretty clearly hinted, that if Mr. Joseph Saunders behaved well, he might, in time, aspire to the honour of her hand. Rachel heard her silently, and looked very uncomfortable.