Every time we talked about that those shop girls glared at us as though we were robbing them of their time and money.

Finally one of them dragged the other out into the aisle, and dashed out of the house with her dear chum, saying, so all could hear: "Well, come on, Terasa, we might as well go, if these two talking _pests_ are going to keep this up behind us." The poor girl's voice trembled.

She was in tears.

She was gone before we could apologize or offer flowers.

So I say in applying this chapter, in our present stage of civilization, sit on the front seat, where no one can hear your whisperings but Mary Pickford on the screen.