"Have you any friends there?"
"A married sister, Miss Jean, who did marry a man in the grocery line. She has ofttimes asked me to pay her a visit, but Lunnon be not to my taste."
"Where does she live, Rawlings?"
"That I can't tell ye, but the name of her house be 177, Charles Street."
Jean repeated this over softly to herself. Then she looked at some Neapolitan violets thoughtfully. Finally she went over to the frame and picked a large bunch of them, and then she ran off to the house, calling to Rawlings over her shoulder, "The wind has begun to blow, Rawlings."
An hour later, she was steadily walking along the same flat road that she had taken the day before, but there was purpose and determination in her face, and in her hand she grasped a small basket of fragrant violets. The town was reached at last, but as she came in sight of the shops, her courage failed her. She hesitated outside a greengrocer's, where flowers were displayed in the window; then squaring her shoulders, walked boldly in.
"Good morning, Miss Desmond," said the woman civilly. "What can I have the pleasure of serving you with?"
Jean became red and confused.
"I—er—don't want anything, thank you. At least I—have you any early potatoes yet?"
"Well no, miss. 'Tis too early. The spring be extra late this year—"