"Why? 'cause he just can't keep his eyes off ye! That's why he comes
every day,--'tain't jest for trade!"

This was quite true, not only of the expressman, but of the butcher
and baker, and the "candlestick-maker," had there been so advanced a
vocation at the cross roads. All were equally and curiously attracted
by her picturesque novelty. Mrs. Rylands knew this herself, but without
vanity or coquettishness. Possibly that was why the other woman told
her. She only slightly deepened the lines of discontent in her cheek and
said abstractedly, "Well, when he comes, YOU ask him."

She dried her shoes, put on a pair of slippers that had a faded splendor
about them, and went up to her bedroom. Here she hesitated for some time
between the sewing-machine and her knitting-needles, but finally settled
upon the latter, and a pair of socks for her husband which she had begun
a year ago. But she presently despaired of finishing them before
he returned, three hours hence, and so applied herself to the
sewing-machine. For a little while its singing hum was heard between the
blasts that shook the house, but the thread presently snapped, and the
machine was put aside somewhat impatiently, with a discontented drawing
of the lines around her handsome mouth. Then she began to "tidy" the
room, putting a great many things away and bringing out a great many
more, a process that was necessarily slow, owing to her falling into
attitudes of minute inspection of certain articles of dress, with
intervals of trying them on, and observing their effect in her mirror.
This kind of interruption also occurred while she was putting away some
books that were lying about on chairs and tables, stopping midway to
open their pages, becoming interested, and quite finishing one chapter,
with the book held close against the window to catch the fading light of