Minna courtesied dutifully, lower than before. The little Bechers were not classified, but their connection was apparent. They calmly sucked their thumbs.
The lords of creation obviously held the rostrum. It was the tall man who responded.
“My name is Maurice, Ichabod Maurice.” He looked at the woman, his companion, from the corner of his eye. “Allow me, Camilla, to present Mr. Becher.” Then turning to his hosts, “Camilla Maurice: Mr. and Mrs. Becher.”
The tall lady shook hands with each.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said, and smiled a moment into their eyes. Thus Camilla Maurice made friends.
There were a few low-spoken words in German and Minna vanished. 128
“She will dinner make ready,” Hans explained.
The visitors sat down in their chairs, with Hans opposite studying them narrowly; singly and together.
“The town is very new,” suggested Ichabod.
“One year ago it was not.” The German’s short legs crossed each other nervously and their owner seized the opportunity to make further inspection. “It is very new,” he repeated absently.