'Both of you, fools!' the Countess interjected. 'Know you Evan so little? He will receive us anywhere: his arms are open to his kindred: but to his heart the road is through humiliation, and it is to his heart we seek admittance.'
'What do you mean?' Harriet inquired.
'Just this,' the Countess answered in bold English and her eyes were lively, her figure elastic: ' We must all of us go down to the old shop and shake his hand there—every man Jack of us!—I'm only quoting the sailors, Harriet—and that's the way to win him.'
She snapped her fingers, laughing. Harriet stared at her, and so did
Andrew, though for a different reason. She seemed to be transformed.
Seeing him inclined to gape, she ran up to him, caught up his chin
between her ten fingers, and kissed him on both cheeks, saying:
'You needn't come, if you're too proud, you know, little man!'
And to Harriet's look of disgust, the cause for which she divined with her native rapidity, she said: 'What does it matter? They will talk, but they can't look down on us now. Why, this is my doing!'
She came tripping to her tall sister, to ask plaintively 'Mayn't I be glad?' and bobbed a curtsey.
Harriet desired Andrew to leave them. Flushed and indignant she then faced the Countess.
'So unnecessary!' she began. 'What can excuse your indiscretion,
Louisa?'
The Countess smiled to hear her talking to her younger sister once more.
She shrugged.