In walked Jean, her bonnet on, her shawl over her arm, looking like going, in complete ignorance of any disturbance, as she never put her foot downstairs.
Mr. Sandford glared at her, he was not "quiet" she saw, so she intended to express her gratitude, which was the right thing to do, and then depart and not say that word about remaining which she would fain have done.
She was a handsome and imposing figure, her kind and homely face, pale from the effects of her recent illness, was surrounded by a full-plaited border of lace, her print gown was a purpose-like gown, and she had a shawl folded neatly across her chest. She was the picture and type of the good, unspoiled, old-fashioned, country servant. Her manner was full of respect, and free from any servility.
"I am come to speak my thanks to you, sir, before I go;" she began, "I have been a great trouble. Now I am well, I will thank you and go my way."
"My sister, not I, looked after you," he said.
"She did that, but there's no one like her in the world."
The two looked at each other, her keen brave blue eyes saw the expression in his and could not understand it.
"You think much of my sister."
"I think all the world of her. She has need of love and care, and kindness—I will always give her what I can."
"What are you going to do when you leave this?" he asked abruptly.