“Did you take me for a ghost?” I persisted, as I drew near the hearth.
“I took yo’ fur—summat,” she answered doggedly. Then, after a moment’s silence, she began to press me hospitably to dry my “shoon,” and informed me that she would “mak’ tay in a two-three minutes.”
“Yo’re out late,” she added presently, gazing at me as I basked in the comfortable warmth. “Dun yo’ coom fro’ far?”
“I have walked along the shore from Saltleigh,” I said. “I am staying at the inn there. It is not very far. When the storm is over I shall make my way back by road.”
“Ah,” she commented, bending down to fill the little brown teapot from the now bubbling kettle.
As she did so I caught sight of the glitter of a wedding-ring upon the gnarled brown hand.
“Do you live here all alone?”
“Ah,” affirmatively.
“You’ve been married, I see.”
She nodded.