I can't wait here all day."
"What's the matter, Saunders?" said one of his brother clerks,
passing him.
"Why, I've been here this half hour showing cloths to a child
that doesn't know merino from a sheep's back," said he,
laughing. And, some other customers coming up at the moment,
he was as good as his word, and left Ellen, to attend to them.
Ellen stood a moment stock still, just where he had left her,
struggling with her feelings of mortification; she could not
endure to let them be seen. Her face was on fire; her head was
dizzy. She could not stir at first, and, in spite of her
utmost efforts, she _could_ not command back one or two rebel
tears that forced their way; she lifted her hand to her face
to remove them as quietly as possible. "What is all this
about, my little girl?" said a strange voice at her side.
Ellen started, and turned her face, with the tears but half
wiped away, towards the speaker. It was an old gentleman — an
odd old gentleman, too, she thought — one she certainly would
have been rather shy of, if she had seen him under other
circumstances. But though his face was odd, it looked kindly
upon her, and it was a kind tone of voice in which his
question had been put; so he seemed to her like a friend.
"What is all this?" repeated the old gentleman. Ellen began to
tell what it was, but the pride which had forbidden her to
weep before strangers, gave way at one touch of sympathy, and
she poured out tears much faster than words, as she related
her story, so that it was some little time before the old
gentleman could get a clear notion of her case.
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