Delightful their chatter was to them. What does
it signify to eighteen years what is said on such an afternoon by
seventeen years, when seventeen years is in a charming white muslin
dress, with the prettiest hat? Words are of importance between me
and you, who care little or nothing for one another. But there is a
thrice blessed time when words are nothing. The real word is that
which is not uttered. We may be silent, or we may be eloquent with
nonsense or sense--it is all one. So it was between George Allen and
Miss Priscilla Broad, who at the present moment were sitting next to
one another. George was a broad, hearty, sandy-haired, sanguine-
faced young fellow of one and twenty, eldest son of the ironmonger.
His education had been that of the middle classes of those days.
Leaving school at fourteen, he had been apprenticed to his father for
seven years, and had worked at the forge down the backyard before
coming into the front shop. On week-days he generally wore a
waistcoat with sleeves and a black apron. He was never dirty; in
fact, he was rather particular as to neatness and cleanliness; but he
was always a little dingy and iron-coloured, as retail ironmongers
are apt to be.
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