“This is my master,” said Riah, stepping forward.
(“Don’t look like anybody’s master,” observed Miss Wren to herself, with a hitch of her chin and eyes.)
“This, sir,” pursued the old man, “is a little dressmaker for little people. Explain to the master, Jenny.”
“Dolls; that’s all,” said Jenny, shortly. “Very difficult to fit too, because their figures are so uncertain. You never know where to expect their waists.”
“Her friend,” resumed the old man, motioning towards Lizzie; “and as industrious as virtuous. But that they both are. They are busy early and late, sir, early and late; and in bye-times, as on this holiday, they go to book-learning.”
“Not much good to be got out of that,” remarked Fledgeby.
“Depends upon the person!” quoth Miss Wren, snapping him up.
“I made acquaintance with my guests, sir,” pursued the Jew, with an evident purpose of drawing out the dressmaker, “through their coming here to buy of our damage and waste for Miss Jenny’s millinery. Our waste goes into the best of company, sir, on her rosy-cheeked little customers. They wear it in their hair, and on their ball-dresses, and even (so she tells me) are presented at Court with it.”
“Ah!” said Fledgeby, on whose intelligence this doll-fancy made rather strong demands; “she’s been buying that basketful today, I suppose?”
“I suppose she has,” Miss Jenny interposed; “and paying for it too, most likely!”