Mrs. Nowell was the wife of Dr. Nowell, who lived a few houses distant from the Misses Holcroft, in Powderham Crescent.
"Oh, Aunt Pamela," Marigold cried eagerly, "do you mean to say you know Mrs. Adams? That is her son who is with her, and he is the gentleman who was so kind to me in the train!"
"Is he, indeed?" Miss Pamela said, with interest in her tones.
"Do you not think we might speak to them, and thank Mr. Adams for his attention to Marigold?" Miss Holcroft suggested. "As you have met Mrs. Adams at Mrs. Nowell's, it would be but common politeness to acknowledge her son's courtesy to our niece!"
"That is very true; but perhaps she may not remember me."
All doubts on that point, however, were immediately set at rest; for in another moment the little old lady turned around to take a last look at the cathedral, and catching sight of Miss Pamela, a gleam of recognition crossed her face. Miss Pamela hurried forward.
"How do you do, Mrs. Adams? I think we have met at Mrs. Nowell's, have we not? I hope you will introduce me to your son, because my sister and I feel we owe him a debt of gratitude for his goodness to our little niece."
"I'm sure Jo was only glad to be of service, weren't you, Jo?" Mrs. Adams said, appealing to her son.
"That's so, that's so," he answered.
"This is my son, Jo, Miss Holcroft. Jo, you've heard me speak of this lady before."