CHAPTER VII.
"_The plain, unvarnished tale of my whole course of love._" Shakespeare "What a handsome girl that is who always waits on us!" Francesca had once said to Clara Russell, as they came out of Hyacinth's with some dainty laces in their hands.
"Very," Clara had answered.
The handsome girl was Sallie.
At another time Francesca, admiring some particular specimen of the pomps and vanities with which the store was crowded, was about carrying it away, but first experimented as to its fit.
"O dear!" she cried, in dismay, "it is too short, and"-- rummaging through the box--"there is not another like it, and it is the only one I want." "How provoking!" sympathized Clara.
"I could very easily alter that," said Sallie, who was behind the counter; "I make these up for the shop, and I'll be glad to fix this for you, if you like it so much." "Thanks.

You are very kind.

Can you send it up to-morrow ?" "This evening, if you wish it." "Very good; I shall be your debtor." "Well!" exclaimed Clara, as they turned away, this is the first time in all my shopping I ever found a girl ready to put herself out to serve one.

They usually act as if they were conferring the most overwhelming favor by condescending to wait upon you at all." "Why, Clara, I'm sure I always find them civil." "I know they seem devoted to you.

I wonder why.