“Oh, Fräulein, how good of you!” cried Adolf; and his whole face beamed with an expression of delight. “How dearly shall I value this old pack hereafter!”
These last words, scarcely muttered above his breath, were overheard by Nelly, and a deep blush covered her cheeks as she bent over the work.
“Where's your own maid? Couldn't one of the women do it as well?” cried Dalton, impatiently. “Ye'd not believe, Mr. Brawer, that we have the house full of servants this minute; a set of devils feasting and fattening at one's expense.”
“Thanks, Fräulein,” said the pedler, as she finished; “You little know how I shall treasure this hereafter.”
“Ask him to stay, papa,” whispered Nelly once more.
“Sure he's a pedler!” muttered Dalton, indignantly.
“At least thank him. Tell him you are grateful to him.”
“He 'd rather I 'd buy ten yards of damaged calico,—that's the flattery he 'd understand best,” said Dalton, with a grin.
“Farewell, Herr von Dalton. Farewell, Fräulein!” said Adolf. And with a bow of deep respect he slowly retired from the room, while Nelly turned to the window to conceal her shame and sorrow together.
“It was this very morning,” muttered Dalton, angrily, “when I spoke of giving a little dinner-party, you did nothing but turn up your nose at this, that, and t' other. There was nobody good enough, forsooth! There was Monsieur Ratteau, the 'croupier' of the tables there, a very nice man, with elegant manners and the finest shirt-studs ever I seen, and you would n't hear of him.”'