The girl stood still, and regarded her with astonishment.
"But we don't even know each other's names," she said. "And you can't want to continue this scraped up acquaintance."
"My name is Anstice Holme," said Anstice, smiling at her. "My husband is away just now, and I and the children are alone. I do want to know you and be your friend, if you will let me. You are too young to be so unhappy and so bitter."
"I have had cause," the girl answered. "Perhaps I will tell you one day. My name is Louise Repton. I should of course like to come and see you. I would walk twenty miles to have another talk like this. The very pouring out of my troubles has done me good. I expect you will be disgusted at my want of reticence, but you came across me at one of my worst times, and I have just let myself go! It has all been I—I—I! But I have no larger circle than my own to think of!"
Then she added eagerly:
"Could you not come back and have tea with me? Don't leave me just yet."
"But I am afraid I must. It is a long walk back, and my chicks would wonder where I was. We will resume our talk the day after to-morrow, and see if we cannot snatch a few golden gleams out of your monotonous life. Good-bye."
She laid her hand affectionately on the girl's shoulder.
"Cheer up! After all, you have youth and health and strength, and intellect. Those are all precious gifts. But I won't preach. Do you think you will find your way across the Fells to Butterdale?"
"Yes, I have been there once. There was a grand Fête for church schools, and my uncle and I both attended it. It was held at Helvellyn Towers."