The house was not pretty, but it seemed to be immaculately neat. A girl as neat as the house itself presently opened the door. When she saw Nesta, she said:
“My missus can’t see anybody to-day,” and was about to slam the door in Nesta’s face, when that young lady adroitly slipped her foot in.
“I must see her. It is most important. It has something to do with the St. Justs,” said Nesta.
She was desperate and had to make up an excuse to secure her interview at any cost. The servant girl was impressed by the word St. Just, and telling Nesta she might stay in the hall and she would inquire, she went away to find her mistress.
Mrs Johnston’s celebrated rheumatism was at its worst that day. She was consequently more cranky than usual, and less inclined to be civil to any who wanted her.
“A girl, did you say, Mercy? Speak out, my lass. What sort of a girl?”
“A kind of lady girl, ma’am.”
“A stranger?”
“Yes; I never seen her before.”
“Did she say what she wanted?”