'I am very sorry,' I stammered; I beg your pardon; but when you said your box walked here----'
'You shouldn't have asked foolish questions. Never mind; we are friends again.' She gave me her hand, quite as though we had had a serious quarrel, which was now made up. Then she nestled a little closer to me, and proceeded with 'Picciola.'
Nothing further was said until the scene assumed another aspect. I was looking over the pages of the story with her, when, raising my eyes, I saw that uncle Bryan was awake. His eyes were fixed on the girl, with a sort of bewilderment on his face as to whether he was asleep or awake. He looked neither at my mother nor me, but only at the girl. Her head was bent over the book, and he could not see her face. I plucked her dress furtively under the table, and she looked up, and met my uncle's gaze. Then I noticed his usual sign of agitation, the twitching of his lips.
'What is this, Emma? he demanded, presently, of my mother.
My mother had been waiting for him to speak. 'This young----'
'Lady,' added the girl quickly, as my mother slightly hesitated, and rising with great composure. 'Say it. I like to hear it. This young lady----'
Completely dominated by the girl's gentle imperiousness, my mother said, 'This young lady has come to see you.'
He glanced at her uncovered head; then at her bonnet and mantle. A flush came into her cheeks, and she exclaimed,
'Oh, I don't want to stop, if you're not agreeable. I only like agreeable people. But if you turn me out to-night I don't exactly know where to go to; and there's my box----'
'Your box!'