Two eyes are looking into her own, eagerly, intently, full of pitying anxiety.
She rises slowly, looks again into the eager eyes, and extends her hand.
“Gracious!” he exclaims, as he releases it, “how nervous yer are: must be awful tired.”
“Tired, yes. I have walked all the way.”
“An’ say, no jokin’ now, have ye come ter live with us?”
“Partner, shake. Ye’re clean grit!”—[page 304].
“I have,” she replies firmly; “unless,” turning a contemptuous glance toward Mamma and Papa, “my parents refuse me a shelter.”
It is probable that these overtures from Franz would have been promptly interrupted, had not Papa and Mamma, seeing the necessity of exchanging a few words, improved this opportunity to understand each other, and as they exchanged hasty whispers, any vagueness or hiatus in their speech was fully supplied by meaning glances. And now quite up in her role, Mamma again advances.