Thomas had yesterday's white tie round his neck--he always "dirtied
out" the Sunday's neckerchief on Monday, and wore a black one on the
other week-days--she guessed his occupation.
"Dear me! you must be tired with walking so far."
"Oh no, not tired with walking; but the fact is I am a little
Mondayish."
"A little what?"
Mr. Thomas giggled a little. "Ah, you young ladies, of course, don't
know what that means. I had to conduct a service in the country
yesterday, and am rather fatigued. I am generally so on Mondays, and
I always relax on that day." This, it is to be remembered, was his
first Monday.
Pauline regretted very much that she had no wine in the house;
neither had they any beer. They were not total abstainers, but
nothing of the kind was kept in their small store-closet.
"Oh, thank you; never mind." He took a bottle of smelling-salts from
the mantelpiece and smelt it. The conversation flagged a little.
Pauline sat at the window, and Mr. Thomas at the table. At last he
observed.
"Are you alone all day?"
"Generally, except on Sunday. Father does not get home till late."
"Dear me! And you are not dull nor afraid?"
"Dull or afraid! Why?"
"Oh, well," he sniggered, "dull--why, young ladies, you know, usually
like society.
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