Jervis obeyed. It afterwards seemed singular that he should have been the one to respond to the bell on this particular occasion, for he was very seldom called upon to do so.
[CHAPTER XII.]
“POLLY.”
WHEN Jervis opened the door, he found a woman standing there—a stranger, he supposed.
She wore a neat, though shabby, bonnet and cloak, and her thin, careworn face was turned full towards the light. It was a face which had been pretty once, though all traces of beauty had vanished now. The features were sharpened as if by prolonged illness, and the gray eyes were set in deep hollows; but a certain strong content shone through the eyes and hovered round the mouth. She stood very still, looking straight before her, with both hands clasped over the handle of a travelling bag.
“Do you want something or somebody?” asked Jervis, after waiting two or three seconds for speech.
“Yes,” she said, and gazed at him questioningly. “Can you tell me, please—”
“Jervis, shut that door—you’ll catch your death of cold,” called Hannah.
“Are you Jervis? Do you have asthma still?” asked the new-comer; and she stepped inside, closing the door herself. “Jervis! I shouldn’t have known you.”
He stood in perplexity, not understanding, and she placed her bag on the ground.