He was evidently totally ignorant of what was taking place in the shop, his occupation for the time being completely filling his mind, so that neither did he notice the agitation of Janet, which grew each moment more marked and decided in character.
At last the girl sprang sharply up, and walked towards the door, but only to be stayed by Canau.
“A moment, little one!” he said; “the Indian ink is not here. Reach it down for me from the closet.”
With trembling hands, Janet crossed to the cupboard, and strove to find the cake of paint; but it was beyond her reach, and she had to take a chair before she could find it and return to the table.
“Good! Now mix me a little upon that saucer; not too much.”
Janet obeyed without a word, and still Canau did not notice her agitation.
At last, though, she was free; and with eyes glittering, she made towards the door, just as she could hear now some hurried words, uttered in a low tone, as if some one were pleading importunately.
Then a few quick broken sentences followed, and one of the cages was slightly moved from its place.
Another moment, and Janet’s hand was upon the fastening of the door, and she had thrown it open in time to see Patty’s drawn farther and farther over the counter in spite of her resistance, and there it was held.
There were more words—hurried, eager words—a faint cry of remonstrance, and then Patty’s hand was snatched away with a violent effort, and she rushed, hot and excited, into the room.