‘I don’t care,’ said Sylvia, still rejecting the dull gray.  ’I like this best.  Eight yards, if you please, miss.’

‘A cloak takes nine yards, at least,’ said Philip, decisively.

‘Mother told me eight,’ said Sylvia, secretly conscious that her mother would have preferred the more sober colour; and feeling that as she had had her own way in that respect, she was bound to keep to the directions she had received as to the quantity.  But, indeed, she would not have yielded to Philip in anything that she could help.

There was a sound of children’s feet running up the street from the river-side, shouting with excitement.  At the noise, Sylvia forgot her cloak and her little spirit of vexation, and ran to the half-door of the shop.  Philip followed because she went.  Hester looked on with passive, kindly interest, as soon as she had completed her duty of measuring.  One of those girls whom Sylvia had seen as she and Molly left the crowd on the quay, came quickly up the street.  Her face, which was handsome enough as to feature, was whitened with excess of passionate emotion, her dress untidy and flying, her movements heavy and free.  She belonged to the lowest class of seaport inhabitants.  As she came near, Sylvia saw that the tears were streaming down her cheeks, quite unconsciously to herself.  She recognized Sylvia’s face, full of interest as it was, and stopped her clumsy run to speak to the pretty, sympathetic creature.

‘She’s o’er t’ bar!  She’s o’er t’ bar!  I’m boun’ to tell mother!’

She caught at Sylvia’s hand, and shook it, and went on breathless and gasping.

‘Sylvia, how came you to know that girl?’ asked Philip, sternly.  ’She’s not one for you to be shaking hands with.  She’s known all down t’ quay-side as “Newcastle Bess."’

‘I can’t help it,’ said Sylvia, half inclined to cry at his manner even more than his words.  ’When folk are glad I can’t help being glad too, and I just put out my hand, and she put out hers.  To think o’ yon ship come in at last!  And if yo’d been down seeing all t’ folk looking and looking their eyes out, as if they feared they should die afore she came in and brought home the lads they loved, yo’d ha’ shaken hands wi’ that lass too, and no great harm done.  I never set eyne upon her till half an hour ago on th’ staithes, and maybe I’ll niver see her again.’

Hester was still behind the counter, but had moved so as to be near the window; so she heard what they were saying, and now put in her word: 

‘She can’t be altogether bad, for she thought o’ telling her mother first thing, according to what she said.’

Sylvia gave Hester a quick, grateful look.  But Hester had resumed her gaze out of the window, and did not see the glance.

And now Molly Corney joined them, hastily bursting into the shop.

‘Hech!’ said she.  ’Hearken! how they’re crying and shouting down on t’ quay.  T’ gang’s among ’em like t’ day of judgment.  Hark!’