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.
Hester went on: 'To be sure, this gray is the closer make, and would wear the longest.' 'I don't care,' said Sylvia, still rejecting the dull gray.

'I like this best.

Eight yards, if you please, miss.' 'A cloak takes nine yards, at least,' said Philip, decisively.
'Mother told me eight,' said Sylvia, secretly conscious that her mother would have preferred the more sober colour; and feeling that as she had had her own way in that respect, she was bound to keep to the directions she had received as to the quantity.

But, indeed, she would not have yielded to Philip in anything that she could help.
There was a sound of children's feet running up the street from the river-side, shouting with excitement.