"Don't, Cara!" she protested.
The dark eyes bubbled again.
"And his hair curls as tight—" She ran a hand along her rumpled curls, then a look of dismay crossed the laughing face. She subsided into a chair and folded her hands meekly. The little feet, in their stout ankle-ties, swung back and forth beneath the chair, and the round, German face assumed an air of wholesome stupidity.
Her sister, whose slow glance had followed hers, gave a little gasp, and sank into a chair on the opposite side of the stove, in duplicate meekness.
The door at the other end of the room had swung open, and a tall woman swept in, followed by a diminutive figure in green coat and white trousers. A pair of huge spectacles, mounted on a somewhat stumpy nose, peered absently from side to side as he approached.
"My daughters, Herr Schubert," said the tall lady, with a circumflex wave of her white hand that included the waxlike figures on each side the stove.
They regarded him fixedly and primly.
His glance darted from one to the other, and he smiled broadly.
"I haf seen the young Fräulein before," he said, indicating the younger with his fat hand.
The dark, round eyes gazed at him expressionless. His spectacles returned the gaze and twinkled.