Felicia stepped within.
"I am Miss Melrose," she said, with composure, "Felicia Melrose. You knew me when I was a child. And I wish to see my father."
Mrs. Dixon's face seemed to have fallen into chaos under the shock. She stood staring at the visitor, her mouth working.
"Muster Melrose's däater!" she said, at last. "T' baby—as was! Aye—yo' feature him! An' yo're stayin' ower ta Duddon—wi' her ladyship. I know. Dixon towd me. Bit yo' shouldna' coom here, Missie! Yo' canno' see your feyther."
"Why not?" said Felicia imperiously. "I mean to see him. Here I am in the house. Take me to him at once!"
And suddenly closing the entrance door behind her, she moved on toward an inner passage dimly lit, of which she had caught sight.
Mrs. Dixon clung to her arm.
"Noa, noa! Coom in here, Missie—coom in here! Dixon!—where are yo'?
Dixon!"
She raised her voice. A chair was pushed back in the kitchen, on the other side of the passage. An old man who, to judge from his aspect, had been roused by his wife's call from a nap after his tea, appeared in a doorway.
Mrs. Dixon drew Felicia toward him, and into the kitchen, as he retreated thither. Then she shut and bolted the door.