"That's th' way she goes on," said Janey. "She canna bide folk to look soft when they're shoutin' to her. That was one o' th' things she had agen Mester Hixon. She said he getten so red i' th' face it put her out o' patience."
"I loike a mon as is na a foo'," proclaimed Granny Dixon. But there her voice changed and grew sharp and tremulous. "Wheer's that flower?" she cried. "Who's getten it?"
Janey turned toward the door and uttered a shrill little cry of excitement.
"It's Miss Ffrench," she said. "She's—she's stondin' at th' door."
It would have been impossible to judge from her expression how long she had been there. She stood upon the threshold with a faint smile on her lips, and spoke to Janey.
"I want to see your mother," she said.
"I'll—I'll go and tell her," the child faltered. "Will yo' coom in?"
She hesitated a second and then came in. Murdoch had arisen. She did not seem to see him as she passed before him to reach the chair in which she sat down. In fact she expressed scarcely a shadow of recognition of her surroundings. But upon Granny Dixon had fallen a sudden feverish tremor.
"Who did she say yo' wur?" she cried. "I did na hear her."
The visitor turned and confronted her.