was knitting violently. Suddenly she piped at the young girl in
French a question which I translate colloquially:

"What's your father up to, now?"

The young creature shrugged her shoulders so comprehensively that
her whole body swayed within the loose wrapper; and in that
unexpectedly harsh voice which yet had a seductive quality to the
senses, like certain kinds of natural rough wines one drinks with
pleasure:

"It's some captain. Leave me alone--will you!"

The chair rocked quicker, the old, thin voice was like a whistle.

"You and your father make a pair. He would stick at nothing--
that's well known. But I didn't expect this."

I thought it high time to air some of my own French. I remarked
modestly, but firmly, that this was business. I had some matters
to talk over with Mr. Jacobus.

At once she piped out a derisive "Poor innocent!" Then, with a
change of tone: "The shop's for business. Why don't you go to the
shop to talk with him?"

The furious speed of her fingers and knitting-needles made one
dizzy; and with squeaky indignation:

"Sitting here staring at that girl--is that what you call