whispered a buxom staylace dealer in voluminous petticoats, who sat near the woman; “yer good man don’t know what he’s saying.” 

 The woman, however, did stand up. “Now, who’s auctioneer?” cried the hay-trusser. 

 “I be,” promptly answered a short man, with a nose resembling a copper knob, a damp voice, and eyes like button-holes. “Who’ll make an offer for this lady?” 

 The woman looked on the ground, as if she maintained her position by a supreme effort of will. 

 “Five shillings,” said someone, at which there was a laugh. 

 “No insults,” said the husband. “Who’ll say a guinea?” 

 Nobody answered; and the female dealer in staylaces interposed. 

 “Behave yerself moral, good man, for Heaven’s love! Ah, what a cruelty is the poor soul married to! Bed and board is dear at some figures ’pon my ’vation ’tis!” 

 “Set it higher, auctioneer,” said the trusser. 

 “Two guineas!” said the auctioneer; and no one replied. 

 “If they don’t take her for that, in ten seconds they’ll have to give more,” said the husband. “Very well. Now auctioneer, add another.” 

 “Three guineas—going for three guineas!” said the rheumy man. 

 “No bid?” said the husband. “Good Lord, why she’s cost me fifty times the money, if a penny. Go on.” 

 “Four guineas!” cried the auctioneer. 

 “I’ll tell ye what—I won’t sell her for less than five,” said the husband, bringing down his fist so that the basins danced. “I’ll sell her for five guineas to any man that will pay me the money, and treat her well; and he shall have her for ever, and never hear aught o’ me. But she shan’t go for less. Now then—five guineas—and she’s yours. Susan, you agree?” 

 She bowed her head with absolute indifference. 

 “Five guineas,” said the auctioneer, “or she’ll be withdrawn. Do anybody give it? The last time. Yes or no?” 

 “Yes,” said a loud voice from 

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