Joan answered with a tinge of color on her cheek. She felt a little like a beggar.
"Thank yo'; I'll come," she said. "If th' mistress is Mrs. Galloway, I ha' a letter fur her fro' Lancashire."
Mrs. Galloway met them on the threshold.
"The young woman, ma'am," said the servant, "has a letter from Lancashire."
"From Lancashire!" said Mrs. Galloway.
"Fro' Riggan, mistress," said Joan. "Fro' Miss Anice. I'm Joan Lowrie."
That Joan Lowrie was a name familiar to her was evident by the change in Mrs. Galloway's face. A faint flush of pleasure warmed it, and she spoke quickly.
"Joan Lowrie!" she said. "My dear child's friend! Then I know you very well. Come into the room, my dear."
She led her into the room and closed the door.
"You are very cold and your shawl is wet," laying a kind hand upon it. "Give it to me, and take a seat by the fire. You must warm yourself thoroughly and have a cup of tea," she said, "and then I will begin to ask questions."
There was a wide, low-seated, low-armed, soft-cushioned chair at one side of the fire, and in this chair she had made Joan seat herself. The sudden change from the chill dampness of the winter day to the exquisite relief and rest, almost overcame the girl. She was deadly pale when Mrs. Galloway ceased, and her lips trembled; she tried to speak, and for a moment could not; tears rushed to her eyes and stood in them. But she managed to answer at last.
"I beg yore pardon," she said. "Yo' ha' no need to moind me. Th' warmth has made me a bit faint, that's aw. I've noan been used to it lately."
