“Vot?”
“No.”
“Vot you vos doin’?”
“I—I’m—crying!” she shrieked, with another outburst.
“Dot vos vunny! Vot you vos gryin’ vor?”
“Oh! oh! Because—because I am so—so affected—by—your—singing!”
She managed to utter the words, and then she fell over into the arms of a girl friend and went into another paroxysm.
Hans was in doubt. Somehow it did not seem to him that she was weeping, but she had said so, and he concluded that it might be her way of shedding tears.
“Vot you thinks uf dot, Misder Pruce Prowning?” he demanded. “You nefer made anypody gry your singing py your whole life in.”
“That’s all right, Hans; but this matter is serious. You have broken her all up, and she is liable to have convulsions and die. If she expires, you will be responsible.”