Campbell: “ There’s a respectable butter-ball over in the corner by the window there. You’d better go and speak to her. She’s got a gingham bundle, like a cook’s, in her lap, and she keeps looking about in a fidgety way, as if she expected somebody. I guess that’s your woman, Roberts. Better not let her give you the slip. You’ll never hear the last of it from Agnes if you do. And who’ll get our dinner to-night?”
Roberts, looking over at the woman in the corner, with growing conviction; “She does answer to the description.”
Campbell: “Yes, and she looks tired of waiting. If I know anything of that woman’s character, Roberts, she thinks she’s been trifled with, and she’s not going to stay to be made a fool of any longer.”
Roberts, getting to his feet: “Do you think so? What makes you think so? Would you go and speak to her?”
Campbell: “I don’t know. She seems to be looking this way. Perhaps she thinks she recognizes you, as she never saw you before.”
Roberts: “There can’t be any harm in asking her? She does seem to be looking this way.”
Campbell: “Pretty blackly, too. I guess she’s lost faith in you. It wouldn’t be any use to speak to her now, Roberts.”
Roberts: “I don’t know. I’m afraid I’d better. I must. How would you introduce the matter, Willis?”
Campbell: “Oh, I wouldn’t undertake to say! I must leave that entirely to you.”
Roberts: “Do you think I’d better go at it boldly, and ask her if she’s the one; or—or—approach it more gradually?”