Jean sat down wearily in the hall.
“I am wet and tired,” said she.
“I was sure you would be that,” said Phemie, “and I made a bit fire in your ain room, and I’ll bring warm water and bathe your feet in a jiffy. No wonder you are tired.”
“That was well done. They cannot be long now in coming. I’ll go and make myself ready, and have the tea made at once.”
Phemie was up with the warm water almost as soon as her mistress.
“Eh! Miss Dawson, but you are white and spent looking. It’s the heat, I dare say, after being in the cold.”
She knelt and took off her shoes and stockings, and bathed her weary feet with kindly care, and Jean let her do as she would, saying nothing for a while.
“I’m better now. Yes, it must have been coming into the warm room after the cold of the afternoon. Thank you, Phemie, that is comfortable. I will be down in a minute now.”
She was sitting behind the urn with a book in her hand when her father came in.
“You are late, papa.”