"Go on, Marka," he said. He nodded encouragement.
She looked down at the pillow-slip in her hands, and back again to the face in the window. The linen slip was plaited uncertainly in her fingers.
"Go on," said Schubert peremptorily. "You were singing. What was it, that tune? Go on."
She looked up again with bold shyness, and shook her head.
The face glared at her.
She smiled saucily, and, putting two plump hands into her apron pockets, advanced toward the window. Her steps danced a little.
Franz stared at the vision. He took off his spectacles and rubbed them, blinking a little.
"Waugh!" he said.
She laughed musically.
He replaced the spectacles, and looked at her more kindly.