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Updated: October 6, 2025
"Oh, ain't you the kidder!" smiled Masie. "How many other girls did you ever tell that?" But Carter persisted. And at length he reached the flimsy, fluttering little soul of the shopgirl that existed somewhere deep down in her lovely bosom. His words penetrated the heart whose very lightness was its safest armor. She looked up at him with eyes that saw. And a warm glow visited her cool cheeks.
The word "engine" dropped into the whirlpool of Issy's thoughts with a familiar sound. In the chapter of "Vivian" that he had just finished, the beautiful shopgirl was imprisoned on board the yacht of the millionaire kidnaper, while the hero, in his own yacht, was miles astern. But the hero's faithful friend, disguised as a stoker, was tampering with the villain's engine.
He began to paint rapidly, with quick glances back and forth between the canvas and Maggie. Maggie's dress was just the ordinary shirt-waist and skirt that the shopgirl and her sisters wear; Hunt had ordered it so.
Somewhere back in his impressionable brain there was growing a distinct hope that this beautiful young creature with the dreamy eyes was something more than a mere shopgirl. It had occurred to him in that one brief moment of contact that she had the air, the poise of a true aristocrat. The old man, over his huge mug of beer, was properly grateful.
In America as in England, no doubt, there is a huge half-educated public, ravenous for doughnuts of romance served up with syrup of sentiment. The enthusiasms of the American shopgirl, I take it, are very much the same as those of her English sister. But the line of demarkation between the educated and the half-educated is just as clear in New York as in London.
The purse was made of cut steel beads and, as Betty often said, "everything stuck to it!" Something clung to it now as she drew it forth, but neither Betty nor the shopgirl saw the dangling twist of tissue paper. "And I'll buy that other one you are knitting," Betty hurried to say as she shook the purse and dug into it for the silver as well as the bills she had left after her morning's shopping.
Abbie's eyes were shining like the disks of a brass letter scale and almost as large they were still upon Maria. "The money?" "No, the stock." "Why, send Mr. Keep the money and he buys the stock and sends you back the certificate. Want to see mine? I've got it pinned in Here it is." Abbie opened the door of the glass partition and beckoned to the shopgirl.
"Maybe she's been a shopgirl, Ira," Prudence observed in private to her husband; "but Sarah Honey didn't neglect teaching her how to keep any man's home neat and proper." "Sh!" admonished Cap'n Ira. "Don't put no such ideas in the gal's head." "What ideas?" the old woman asked wonderingly.
The astonishingly unsophisticated and impossibly innocent shopgirl who in the story just escapes the loss of her honor; the noble young man who heroically "marries the girl"; the adventures of the debonaire actress, who turns out most surprisingly to be an angel of sweetness and light; and the Johnny whose heart is really pure gold, and who, to the reader's utter bewilderment, proves himself to be a Saint George these are the leading characters in a great deal of our periodical literature.
A man who wants to cultivate relations with a homeless shopgirl is rather awkwardly fixed. 'I wish to Heaven you would not talk like that, Miss Payne! said Hugo, interrupting her impatiently. 'I am merely telling you these things so that you may understand my position, Camilla coldly replied. 'Do you imagine that I am amusing myself? 'Go on, go on, I beg, he urged, with a gesture of apology.
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