She was in one of these grand and grave accelerations this morning. Miss Pashaw's marriage was fixed for a fortnight earlier than had been intended, business calling Mr. Soldane abroad. There were dresses to be hurried; work for over-hours was to be given out. Miss Tonker was to use every exertion; temporary hands, if reliable, might be employed. All must be ready by Thursday next; Madame Bylles had given her word for it. The manner in which she loftily transmitted this grand intelligence, warm from the high-born lips that had favored her with the confidence,--the air of intending it for Miss Tonker's secondarily distinguished ear alone, while the carriage-roll in her accents bore it to the farthest corner in the room, where the meekest little woman sat basting,--these things are indescribable. But they are in human nature: you can call them up and scrutinize them for yourself. Madame Bylles receded like a tidal wave, having heaved up, and changed, and overwhelmed all things. A great buzz succeeded her departure; Miss Tonker followed her out upon the landing. "I'll speak for that cashmere peignoir that is just cut out. I'll make it nights, and earn me an ostrich band for my hat," said Elise Mokey. One spoke for one thing; one another; they were claimed beforehand, in this fashion, by a kind of work-women's code; as publishers advertise foreign books in press, and keep the first right by courtesy. Miss Proddle stopped her machine at last, and caught the news in her slow fashion hind side before. "We might some of us have overwork, I should think; shouldn't you?" she asked, blandly, of Miss Bree. Aunt Blin smiled. "They've been squabbling over it these five minutes," she replied. Aunt Blin was sure of some particular finishing, that none could do like her precise old self. Kate Sencerbox jumped up impatiently, reaching over for some fringe. "I shall have to give it up," she whispered emphatically into Bel Bree's ear. "It's no use your asking me to go to Chapel any more. I ain't sanctified a grain. I did begin to think there was a kind of work of grace begun in me,--but I _can't_ stand Miss Proddle! What _are_ people made to strike ten for, always, when it's eleven?" "I think _we_ are all striking _twelve_" said Bel Bree. "One's too fast, and another's too slow, but the sun goes round exactly the same." Miss Tonker came back, and the talk hushed. "Clock struck one, and down they run, hickory, dickory, dock," said Miss Proddle, deliberately, so that her voice brought up the subsiding rear of sound and was heard alone. "What _under_ the sun?" exclaimed Miss Tonker, with a gaze of mingled amazement, mystification, and contempt, at the poor old maiden making such unwonted noise.