“Aye, I'm Joan Lowrie, if it 'll do yo' ony good to know.”
“You must have something done to that cut upon your temple.”
She put up her hand and wiped the blood away, as if impatient at his persistence.
“It 'll do well enow as it is,” she said.
“That is a mistake,” he answered. “You are losing more blood than you imagine. Will you let me help you?”
She stirred uneasily.
Derrick took no notice of the objection. He drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and, after some little effort, managed to stanch the bleeding, and having done so, bound the wound up. Perhaps something in his sympathetic silence and the quiet consideration of his manner touched Joan. Her face, upturned almost submissively, for the moment seemed tremulous, and she set her lips together. She did not speak until he had finished, and then she rose and stood before him immovable as ever.
“Thank yo',” she said in a suppressed voice, “I canna say no more.”
“Never mind that,” he answered, “I could have done no less. If you could go home now——”
“I shall na go whoam to neet,” she interrupted him.