“Oh, I beg pardon, I’m sure!” said this youngish man suddenly; and with a swift turn he disappeared whence he had come.

He was Mr. Povey, a person universally esteemed, both within and without the shop, the surrogate of bedridden Mr. Baines, the unfailing comfort and stand-by of Mrs. Baines, the fount and radiating centre of order and discipline in the shop; a quiet, diffident, secretive, tedious, and obstinate youngish man, absolutely faithful, absolutely efficient in his sphere; without brilliance, without distinction; perhaps rather little-minded, certainly narrow-minded; but what a force in the shop!  The shop was inconceivable without Mr. Povey.  He was under twenty and not out of his apprenticeship when Mr. Baines had been struck down, and he had at once proved his worth.  Of the assistants, he alone slept in the house.  His bedroom was next to that of his employer; there was a door between the two chambers, and the two steps led down from the larger to the less.

The girls regained their feet, Sophia with Constance’s help.  It was not easy to right a capsized crinoline.  They both began to laugh nervously, with a trace of hysteria.

“I thought he’d gone to the dentist’s,” whispered Constance.

Mr. Povey’s toothache had been causing anxiety in the microcosm for two days, and it had been clearly understood at dinner that Thursday morning that Mr. Povey was to set forth to Oulsnam Bros., the dentists at Hillport, without any delay.  Only on Thursdays and Sundays did Mr. Povey dine with the family.  On other days he dined later, by himself, but at the family table, when Mrs. Baines or one of the assistants could “relieve” him in the shop.  Before starting out to visit her elder sister at Axe, Mrs. Baines had insisted to Mr. Povey that he had eaten practically nothing but “slops” for twenty-four hours, and that if he was not careful she would have him on her hands.  He had replied in his quietest, most sagacious, matter-of-fact tone—­the tone that carried weight with all who heard it—­that he had only been waiting for Thursday afternoon, and should of course go instantly to Oulsnams’ and have the thing attended to in a proper manner.  He had even added that persons who put off going to the dentist’s were simply sowing trouble for themselves.

None could possibly have guessed that Mr. Povey was afraid of going to the dentist’s.  But such was the case.  He had not dared to set forth.  The paragon of commonsense, pictured by most people as being somehow unliable to human frailties, could not yet screw himself up to the point of ringing a dentist’s door-bell.

“He did look funny,” said Sophia.  “I wonder what he thought.  I couldn’t help laughing!”

Constance made no answer; but when Sophia had resumed her own clothes, and it was ascertained beyond doubt that the new dress had not suffered, and Constance herself was calmly stitching again, she said, poising her needle as she had poised it to watch Sophia: