"I am Rachel Ffrench," she answered in a clear, high voice.
The dull red deepened upon the old woman's cheeks, and her eyes gained new fire.
"Yo're a good un to mak' a body hear," she said. "An' I know yo'."
Miss Ffrench made no reply. She smiled incredulously at the fire.
The old woman moved restlessly.
"Ay, but I do," she cried. "I know yo'. Yo're Ffrench fro' head to foot. Wheer did yo' get that?"
She was pointing to a flower at Miss Ffrench's throat—a white, strongly fragrant, hot-house flower. Miss Ffrench cast a downward glance at it.
"There are plenty to be had," she said. "I got it from home."
"I've seen 'em before," said Granny Dixon. "He used to wear 'em i' his button-hole."
Miss Ffrench made no reply and she went on, her tones increasing in volume with her excitement.