Behind the counter, on the left hand, stood a youth of about twenty, young George Turnbull, the son of the principal partner, occupied in leisurely folding and putting aside a number of things he had been showing to a farmer's wife, who was just gone.

He was an ordinary-looking lad, with little more than business in his high forehead, fresh-colored, good-humored, self-satisfied cheeks, and keen hazel eyes.

These last kept wandering from his not very pressing occupation to the other side of the shop, where stood, behind the opposing counter, a young woman, in attendance upon the wants of a well-dressed youth in front of it, who had just made choice of a pair of driving-gloves.

His air and carriage were conventionally those of a gentleman--a gentleman, however, more than ordinarily desirous of pleasing a young woman behind a counter.

She answered him with politeness, and even friendliness, nor seemed aware of anything unusual in his attentions.
"They're splendid gloves," he said, making talk; "but don't you think it a great price for a pair of gloves, Miss Marston ?" "It is a good deal of money," she answered, in a sweet, quiet voice, whose very tone suggested simplicity and straightforwardness; "but they will last you a long time.