“He is not a counter-jumper,” said reckless Rose.

“How do you know?” returned Frances swiftly.

“Proprietors don’t wait behind the counter.”

“That is where he has had to learn his business, of course,” said Deb.  “But there is nothing disgraceful in counters.  Don’t be snobbish, Francie.  Every trade—­profession too, for that matter—­has to have a counter of some sort.”

“Of course it has,” said Rose, heartened.

“Oh, but to see a man—­a miserable apology for a man—­measuring out calicoes and ribbons, and tapes and buttons, and stays and garters, and all sorts of things that a man has no right to touch—­pugh!”

“Only women sell the stays and garters,” corrected Rose vehemently.  “And at least young Mr Breen is not a miserable apology for a man.  He is as much a real man as anybody else—­goes out shooting—­plays tennis—­”

Again Francie’s cat’s-paw pounced on her.  “How do you know?”

“Why—­why—­you can see he is one of that sort,” squirmed poor Rose.

“Oh!” said Frances significantly, with a firm stare at her sister’s scarlet face.  “Deb, there is more in this than meets the eye—­even than meets the eye.”

“I don’t care what you say,” struck Rose blindly.

“Don’t tease her,” Deb interposed.  “And don’t be putting preposterous ideas into the child’s head.”

“Please, Deb, I am not a child.”

“No, my dear, you are not; and therefore you know, as well as we do, that young Mr Breen is nothing to us.”

“Did I say he was anything?  It is Francie that makes horrid, vulgar insinuations.”

“But how do you know that he shoots and plays tennis?” persisted Frances, with a darkling smile.

“Because he told me so—­there!”

In five minutes the inquisitor had drawn forth the whole innocent tale.  She fell back in her chair, while Deb seemed to congeal slowly.

“Oh,” moaned Frances, “no wonder they thought they could come and call and make friends with us!  And no wonder,” she added, more viciously, “that there he stands leering up at this window, when his horse has been ready this half hour.”

“Is he doing that?” asked Deb quickly.

“Look at him!”

Deb rose and looked; then, with a firm hand, closed the two little windows and drew down the blinds.  With a sob of rage, Rose jumped from her basket-chair, almost flung her cup and saucer upon the tea-tray, and rushed out of the room.

Thereupon the little family resolved itself into a strong government and one rebel.

“When I do want to marry a shopkeeper,” said weeping Rose to her sisters, “then it will be time enough to make yourselves ridiculous.”