'Good day, Sylvie,' he said; 'what are you wanting? How are all at
home? Let me help you!' Sylvia pursed up her red lips, and did not look at him as she
replied, 'I'm very well, and so is mother; feyther's got a touch of
rheumatiz, and there's a young woman getting what I want.'
She turned a little away from him when she had ended this sentence,
as if it had comprised all she could possibly have to say to him.
But he exclaimed, 'You won't know how to choose,' and, seating himself on the counter,
he swung himself over after the fashion of shop-men.
Sylvia took no notice of him, but pretended to be counting over her
money.
'What do you want, Sylvie?' asked he, at last annoyed at her
silence.
'I don't like to be called "Sylvie;" my name is Sylvia; and I'm
wanting duffle for a cloak, if you must know.'
Hester now returned, with a shop-boy helping her to drag along the
great rolls of scarlet and gray cloth.
'Not that,' said Philip, kicking the red duffle with his foot, and
speaking to the lad. 'It's the gray you want, is it not, Sylvie?' He
used the name he had had the cousin's right to call her by since her
childhood, without remembering her words on the subject not five
minutes before; but she did, and was vexed.
'Please, miss, it is the scarlet duffle I want; don't let him take
it away.' Hester looked up at both their countenances, a little wondering what
was their position with regard to each other; for this, then, was
the beautiful little cousin about whom Philip had talked to her
mother, as sadly spoilt, and shamefully ignorant; a lovely little
dunce, and so forth. Hester had pictured Sylvia Robson, somehow, as
very different from what she was: younger, more stupid, not half so
bright and charming (for, though she was now both pouting and cross,
it was evident that this was not her accustomed mood). Sylvia
devoted her attention to the red cloth, pushing aside the gray.
Philip Hepburn was vexed at his advice being slighted; and yet he
urged it afresh.
'This is a respectable, quiet-looking article that will go well with
any colour; you niver will be so foolish as to take what will mark
with every drop of rain.'
'I'm sorry you sell such good-for-nothing things,' replied Sylvia,
conscious of her advantage, and relaxing a little (as little as she
possibly could) of her gravity.
Hester came in now.
'He means to say that this cloth will lose its first brightness in
wet or damp; but it will always be a good article, and the colour
will stand a deal of wear. Mr. Foster would not have had it in his
shop else.' Philip did not like that even a reasonable peace-making interpreter
should come between him and Sylvia, so he held his tongue in
indignant silence.