I was just behind them, and could not help hearing him.

"You will make me jealous," he said; "you never noticed _my_ night-drink--_I_ have beer." The widow answered him by a look; he heaved a little sigh of happiness.
Poor Mr.Engelman! Minna innocently broke in on this mute scene of sentiment.
She was looking at the pictures in the room, and asked for explanations of them which Mr.Engelman only could afford.

It struck me as odd that her mother's artistic sympathies did not appear to be excited by the pictures.

Instead of joining her daughter at the other end of the room, she stood by the bedside with her hand resting on the little table, and her eyes fixed on the jug of barley-water, absorbed in thought.

On a sudden, she started, turned quickly, and caught me observing her.