“Yes, they’re––friends of mine,” he corroborated.
Hans, personification of knowledge, stood bobbing on the doorstep, until the trail of smoke vanished from sight, then brought the satchel inside and set it down hard.
“Her brother has come,” he announced to the wide-eyed Minna.
“Wessen Bruder?” Minna was obviously excited, as attested by the lapse from English.
“Are we not now Americans naturalized?” rebuked Hans, icily. Suddenly he thawed. “Whose brother! The brother of Camilla Maurice, to be sure.”
Minna scrutinized the bag, curiously. 154
“Did he so––inform you?” she questioned unadvisedly.
“It was not necessary. I have eyes.”
Offended masculine dignity clumped noisily toward the door; instinctive feminine diplomacy sprang to the rescue.
“You are so wise, Hans!”