They all rose, bowed, and sat down again, but no one spoke. He tried
to detain his hostess, but she would not stay.
"I've got to look atter the rest," she said. "You must talk to some o'
these folks. They didn't come here jest to look at you. Here, Jennie
Wynn, turn yore face round, an' give Frank a chance to talk to Lou."
She whisked off into another room, and Westerfelt found himself facing
a blushing maiden with a round face, dark hair and eyes.
"Excuse my back," she said over her shoulder to Frank Hansard.
"It _hain't_ as purty as yore face, ef you _have_ got on a new dress,"
he replied, laughing.
"Hush, Frank; hain't you got no manners?" She meant that he was
showing discourtesy by continuing to talk to her when she had just been
introduced to a stranger.
"You ought not to be hard on him," said Westerfelt; "he must have meant
what he said."
"You are jest like all the rest, I reckon," she said; "men think girls
don't care for nothin' but sweet talk."
Just then the old negro fiddler moved into the chimney-corner and raked
his violin with his bow.
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