Mrs. Galloway came and stood near her.
"I am sorry to hear that, my dear," she said.
"Yo're very kind, ma'am," Joan answered.
She drew the letter from her dress and handed it to her.
"I getten that fro' Miss Anice the neet I left Riggan," she said.
When the tea was brought in and Joan had sat down, the old lady read the letter.
"Keep her with you if you can. Give her the help she needs most. She has had a hard life, and wants to forget it."
"Now, I wonder," said Mrs. Galloway to herself, "what the help is that she needs most?"
The rare beauty of the face impressed her as it invariably impressed strangers, but she looked beneath the surface and saw something more in it than its beauty. She saw its sadness, its resolution.
When Joan rose from the table, the old lady was still standing with the letter in her hand. She folded it and spoke to her.
"If you are sufficiently rested, I should like you to sit down and talk to me a little. I want to speak to you about your plans."
"Then," said Joan, "happen I'd better tell yo' at th' start as I ha' none."
Mrs. Galloway put her hand upon her shoulder.
"Then," she returned, "that is all the better for me, for I have in my mind one of my own. You would like to find work to help you"
"I mun find work," Joan interrupted, "or starve."
"Of any kind?" questioningly.
"I ha' worked at th' pit's mouth aw my life," said Joan. "I need na be dainty, yo' see."
