"She was a good kid," said the Poor Boy. And then, more than half to himself: "I think I'll have her up for a visit."
"Fwaat!" exclaimed Martha.
"I'll have her stay with some of my make-believe people," he said. "She'll be the first person to come here that I ever knew before. She shall stay with—with? I have it, she's a guest of Lord Harrow's daughter, and they've just moved into Harrow Hall. That's the new Georgian House, on Lilly Pond...."
"When I was in New York I saw Miss Joy."
"You did!"
"She was prettier than any picture. She come up and give me both hands and says: 'Why, Martha!' And then we talked.—And she never believed you did it, never!"
"Ah! She might have written!"
"Troubles came on her poor father. He lost his money, and he died. She lost thought for any one but him."
"Miss Joy—poor! How dreadful! How wrong! What is she doing?"
"She's a sort of companion and helper to a rich old woman, and she's saving her wages against a rainy day."