The dolls’ dressmaker had an arm round her friend’s waist. Adjusting the arm, she slyly took the opportunity of blowing at her own hair where it fell over her face; then the eye down there, under lighter shadows sparkled more brightly and appeared more watchful.

“When He turns up, he shan’t be a gentleman; I’ll very soon send him packing, if he is. However, he’s not Mr. Wrayburn; I haven’t captivated him . I wonder whether anybody has, Lizzie!”

“It is very likely.”

“Is it very likely? I wonder who!”

“Is it not very likely that some lady has been taken by him, and that he may love her dearly?”

“Perhaps. I don’t know. What would you think of him, Lizzie, if you were a lady?”

“I a lady!” she repeated, laughing. “Such a fancy!”