Hannah was thoroughly self-possessed. Putting her parcels in Nora's hands, she said:
"Empty these in their boxes, dear, while I speak to Mr. Brudenell." Then turning to the young man, she said: "Sir, your mother, I believe, has asked to see me about some cloth she wishes to have woven. I am going over to her now; will you go with me?"
"Certainly, Hannah," replied Mr. Brudenell, seizing his hat in nervous trepidation, and forgetting or not venturing to bid good-by to Nora.
When they had got a little way from the hut, Hannah said:
"Mr. Brudenell, why do you come to our poor little house so often?"
The question, though it was expected, was perplexing.
"Why do I come, Hannah? Why, because I like to."
"Because you like to! Quite a sufficient reason for a gentleman to render for his actions, I suppose you think. But, now, another question: 'What are your intentions towards my sister?'"
"My intentions!" repeated the young man, in a thunderstruck manner. "What in the world do you mean, Hannah?"
"I mean to remind you that you have been visiting Nora for the last two months, and that to-day, when I entered the house, I found you sitting together as lovers sit; looking at each other as lovers look; and speaking in the low tones that lovers use; and when I reached you, you started in confusion—as lovers do when discovered at their love-making. Now I repeat my question, 'What are your intentions towards Nora Worth?'"