r head upon the table, and thought how merciful would be death
when he should come.

CHAPTER XLV.

"IT WON'T DO, AFY!"

Mr. Jiffin was in his glory. Mr. Jiffin's house was the same. Both were
in apple-pie order to receive Miss Afy Hallijohn, who was, in a very
short period, indeed, to be converted into Mrs. Jiffin.

Mr. Jiffin had not seen Afy for some days--had never been able to come
across her since the trial at Lynneborough. Every evening had he
danced attendance at her lodgings, but could not get admitted. "Not
at home--not at home," was the invariable answer, though Afy might be
sunning herself at the window in his very sight. Mr. Jiffin, throwing
off as best he could the temporary disappointment, was in an ecstasy
of admiration, for he set it all down to Afy's retiring modesty on the
approach of the nuptial day. "And they could try to calumniate her!" he
indignantly replied.

But now, one afternoon, when Mr. Jiffin and his shopman, and his shop,
and his wares, were all set out to the best advantage--and very tempting
they looked, as a whole, especially the spiced bacon--Mr. Jiffin
happening to cast his eyes to the opposite side of the street, beheld
his beloved sailing by. She was got up in the fashion. A mauve silk
dress with eighteen flounces, and about eighteen hundred steel buttons
that glittered your sight away; a "zouave" jacket worked with gold; a
black turban perched on the top of her skull, garnished in front with
what court milliners are pleased to term a "plume de coq," but which, by
its size and height, might have been taken for a "coq" himself, while
a white ostrich feather was carried round and did duty behind, and a
spangled hair net hung down to her waist. Gloriously grand was Afy that
day and if I had but a photographing machine at hand--or whatever may be
the scientific name of the thing--you should certainly have been regaled
with the sight of her. Joyce would have gone down in a fit had she
encountered her by an unhappy chance. Mr. Jiffin, dashing his apron
anywhere, tore across.

"Oh, it is you!" said Afy, freezingly, when compelled to acknowledge
him, but his offered hand she utterly repudiated. "Really, Mr. Jiffin,
I should feel obliged if you would not come out to me in this offensive
and public manner."

Mr. Jiffin grew cold. "Offensive! Not come out?" gasped he. "I do trust
I have not been so unfortunate as to offend you, Miss Afy!"

"Well--you see," said Afy, calling up al