man,
with little black eyes that kept twinkling at her.

She complained of these eyes to Mrs. Cole. "Why does he twinkle so? I
can see it is at me. I am doing something foolish--I know I am."

Mrs. Cole turned, and fixed a haughty stare on the old gentleman. Would
you believe it? instead of sinking through the floor, he sat his ground,
and retorted with a cold, clear grin.

But now, whenever Rosa's agent bid for her, and the other man of straw
against him, the black eyes twinkled, and Rosa's courage began to ooze
away. At last she said, "That is enough for one day. I shall go. Who
could bear those eyes?"

The broker took her address; so did the auctioneer's clerk. The
auctioneer asked her for no deposit; her beautiful, innocent, and
high-bred face was enough for a man who was always reading faces, and
interpreting them.

And so they retired.

But this charming sex is like that same auctioneer's hammer, it cannot
go abruptly. It is always going--going--going--a long time before it is
gone. I think it would perhaps loiter at the door of a jail, with the
order of release in its hand, after six years' confinement. Getting up
to go quenches in it the desire to go. So these ladies having got up to
go, turned and lingered, and hung fire so long, that at last another set
of oak chairs came up. "Oh! I must see what these go for," said Rosa, at
the door.

The bidding was mighty languid now Rosa's broker was not stimulating
it; and the auctioneer was just knocking down twelve chairs--oak and
leather--and two arm-chairs, for twenty pounds, when, casting his eyes
around, he caught sight of Rosa looking at him rather excited. He looked
inquiringly at her. She nodded slightly; he knocked them down to her at
twenty guineas, and they were really a great bargain.

"Twenty-two," cried the dealer.

"Too late," said the auctioneer.

"I spoke with the hammer, sir."

"After the hammer, Isaacs."

"Shelp me God, we was together."

One or two more of his tribe confirmed this pious falsehood, and
clamored to have them put up again.

"Call the next lot," said the auctioneer, peremptorily. "Make up your
mind a little quicker next time, Mr. Isaacs; you have been long enough
at it to know the value of oak and moroccar."

Mrs. Staines and her friend now started for Morley's Hotel, but went
round by Regent Street, whereby they got glued at Peter Robinson's
window, and nine other windows; and it was nearly five o'clock when they
rea