“Perhaps they would come in if we beckoned,” suggested Mrs. St. John.
Mr. Brooke threw up the window, and signs of invitation were freely made, not at once to be responded to. The girls seemed very slow to hear or heed, Joan being extremely reluctant to enter the house. But Nessie was timid in a storm, and her fears overruled Joan’s unwillingness. They crossed the open space at a run, and stood under the porch.
Mr. Brooke himself opened the door.
“Come in, pray,” he said. “Mrs. St. John thought you might be glad of shelter.”
“I don’t mind it, but Nessie does. Thank you,” Joan said, not very graciously, as she preceded Nessie into the drawing-room.
Mrs. St. John’s hand was extended to Nessie first. “How do you do?” she said, rather distantly. “You and I have met before, I believe. Is this your sister?”
“It is—Joan,” Nessie answered, with a slight break, recalling Joan’s words as to introductions.
“My friend, Mr. Brooke. The two Misses Rutherford,” Mrs. St. John said, by way of introduction. “Pray come to the fire, and dry yourselves.”
Joan’s black eyes had given one startled flash at the sound of the gentleman’s name. A Brooke was not necessarily a connection of her own, but she never liked to hear the word. She said nothing, however, placing herself in front of the fire. Nessie followed tamely, being much given when with Joan to act as Joan’s shadow.