"He does a little smuggling?"
"A little! He's in it up to his eyes. He could get you both across easily enough, if you paid him, supposing he didn't take your money first and then sell you. And that's as likely as not."
Some one knocked at the door then and she went out, returning with a servant who clumped noisily after her and began to lay the cloth for dinner.
"Be careful, Gretchen," she said sharply as the girl nearly let some glasses fall. She was a stoutish, rather slatternly girl, with particularly grimy finger nails, and a shawl over her head which concealed most of her face. She was very clumsy, too, and set everything down awkwardly with a guffaw.
"What do you think of Gretchen?"
I started and they both laughed. It was Nessa, of course, and she whipped off the shawl, clapped her hands, and turned completely round so that I might study her get-up.
"Better than the boy, eh?" laughed Mrs. Fischer.
"It's wonderful. I should have passed her in the street with that shawl over her head."
"It's how the workgirls wear it."
"Look at my boots, Jack," cried Nessa, holding up a foot. "Aren't they just lovely?" Great clumsy thick-soled things they were.