But not a word did she say of her interview to the servants in the kitchen. She kept her own counsel. She had had her opportunity and she used it.
"I'm as good as the girl in the Bible, now," she said to herself, with a happy sigh. "She telled a sick capting who would cure him, and I've done it too. I can't do no more. I wonder if he'll go."
"Aunt Alice," said Captain D'Arcy that afternoon. "You have an extraordinary specimen of a maid in your household."
"You must mean Peggy," said Mrs. Dale smiling. "I daresay she does look queer, but she is a rough diamond, Harry. She is a true, faithful little soul, who puts her heart into her work. She is not my servant really, but I am taking her to oblige some friends whilst they are away. Do you remember a Mr. Churchhill, a clergyman in the East End? I used to work with him many years ago."
"I remember two little girls, when I was a very small boy, coming to tea with you once. Joy, or Joyce, one of them was called. She and I vowed perpetual friendship, or something of the sort. Where are they now?"
"The father died quite recently, and they are left very badly off, I am afraid. They took a small cottage in the country, and had Peggy as their maid. I was lodging in a farmhouse near them this summer, so renewed my acquaintance with them. They are at Bournemouth now, for Helen Churchhill has been ill and wanted a change of air. They shut up their cottage, and I promised to take charge of Peggy meanwhile."
"Is she by way of being a saint or a simpleton?" asked Captain D'Arcy languidly.
His aunt looked sharply at him.
"Has she been talking to you? Her tongue cannot be restrained, but she means no harm."
Captain D'Arcy gave a short laugh.