During breakfast something was learnt nearer home; though not all that a man less unconscious and more vain than Philip might have discovered.  He only found out that Mrs. Rose was displeased with him for not having gone to the watch-night with Hester, according to the plan made some weeks before.  But he soothed his conscience by remembering that he had made no promise; he had merely spoken of his wish to be present at the service, about which Hester was speaking; and although at the time and for a good while afterwards, he had fully intended going, yet as there had been William Coulson to accompany her, his absence could not have been seriously noticed.  Still he was made uncomfortable by Mrs. Rose’s change of manner; once or twice he said to himself that she little knew how miserable he had been during his ‘gay evening,’ as she would persist in calling it, or she would not talk at him with such persevering bitterness this morning.  Before he left for the shop, he spoke of his intention of going to see how his aunt was, and of paying her a new year’s day visit.

Hepburn and Coulson took it in turns week and week about to go first home to dinner; the one who went first sate down with Mrs. Rose and her daughter, instead of having his portion put in the oven to keep warm for him.  To-day it was Hepburn’s turn to be last.  All morning the shop was full with customers, come rather to offer good wishes than to buy, and with an unspoken remembrance of the cake and wine which the two hospitable brothers Foster made a point of offering to all comers on new year’s day.  It was busy work for all—­for Hester on her side, where caps, ribbons, and women’s gear were exclusively sold—­for the shopmen and boys in the grocery and drapery department.  Philip was trying to do his business with his mind far away; and the consequence was that his manner was not such as to recommend him to the customers, some of whom recollected it as very different, courteous and attentive, if grave and sedate.  One buxom farmer’s wife noticed the change to him.  She had a little girl with her, of about five years old, that she had lifted up on the counter, and who was watching Philip with anxious eyes, occasionally whispering in her mother’s ear, and then hiding her face against her cloak.

‘She’s thought a deal o’ coming to see yo’, and a dunnot think as yo’ mind her at all.  My pretty, he’s clean forgotten as how he said last new year’s day, he’d gi’ thee a barley-sugar stick, if thou’d hem him a handkercher by this.’

The child’s face was buried in the comfortable breadth of duffle at these words, while the little outstretched hand held a small square of coarse linen.

’Ay, she’s noane forgotten it, and has done her five stitches a day, bless her; and a dunnot believe as yo’ know her again.  She’s Phoebe Moorsom, and a’m Hannah, and a’ve dealt at t’ shop reg’lar this fifteen year.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ said Philip.  ’I was up late last night, and I’m a bit dazed to-day.  Well! this is nice work, Phoebe, and I’m sure I’m very much beholden to yo’.  And here’s five sticks o’ barley-sugar, one for every stitch, and thank you kindly, Mrs. Moorsom, too.’