She turned away--the eager expectation all fled from her face: I saw
it vanish.
"Eh?" says I.
She sniffed: 'twas a frank sniff of contempt--pain, like a half-heard
sob, mixed with the scorn of it.
"What you doin' here?"
I stood reproached; she had achieved it in a glance--a little shaft of
light, darting upon me, departing, having dealt its wound.
"Well, maid," cries I, the smart of her glance and silence enraging
me, "is you got no tongue?"
She puckered her brows, pursed her lips; she sighed--and concerned
herself with her hair-ribbon, quite placid once more. 'Twas a trick
well known to me. 'Twas a trick aggravating to the temper. 'Twas a
maid's trick--an ensnaring, deadly trick. 'Twas a trick ominous of my
imminent confusion.
"Eh?" I demanded.
"Dannie, child," she admonished, gently, "God hates a liar!"