you know."

"Oh, so he is going to marry Deborah Giles, after all?"

"Deborah Giles!"

"Yes; was he not said to be engaged to her, some time ago?"

"Deborah Giles! the boatman's daughter! I declare I never heard of such
a place as this for gossip! Why, Deborah Giles can barely read and
write; and she is beneath Mr Hope in every way. I do not believe he
ever spoke to her in his life."

"Oh, well; I do not pretend to know. I heard something about it.
Eleven and threepence. Can you change a sovereign, Mr Jones? And,
pray, send home the chops immediately."

"It is my cousin, Miss Ibbotson, that Mr Hope is engaged to," said
Sophia, unable to refrain from disclosures which she yet saw were not
cared for:--"the beautiful Miss Ibbotson, you know."

"Indeed: I am sure somebody said it was Deborah Giles. Then you think,
Mr Jones, we may depend upon you for game when the season begins?"

Mr Jones seemed more interested in the news than his customer; he
wished Mr Hope all good luck with his pretty lady.

Sophia thought herself fortunate when she saw Mr Enderby turn out of
the toy-shop with his youngest nephew, a round-faced boy, still in
petticoats, perched upon his shoulder. Mr Enderby bowed, but did not
seem to heed her call: he jumped through the turnstile, and proceeded to
canter along the church lane amidst the glee of the child so rapidly,
that Sophia was obliged to give up the hope of being the first to tell
him the news. It was very provoking: she should have liked to see how
he would look.

She was sure of a delighted listener in Mrs Howell, to whom no
communication ever came amiss: but there was a condition to Mrs
Howell's listening--that she should be allowed to tell her own news
first. When she found that Sophia wanted to match some worsteds, she
and her shop-woman exchanged sympathetic glances--Mrs Howell sighing,
with her head on the right side, and Miss Miskin groaning, with her head
on the left side.

"Are you ill, Mrs Howell?" asked Sophia.

"It shook me a little, I confess, ma'am, hearing that you wanted
worsteds. We have no relief, ma'am, from ladies wanting worsteds."

"No relief, day or night," added Miss Miskin.

"Day or night! Surely you do not sell worsteds in the night-time?" said
Sophia.

"Not sell them, ma'am; only match them. The matching them is the trial,
I assure you. If you could only hear my agent, ma'am--the things he has
to tell about people in my situation--how t