The lady, to the best of her ability, supplied her husband's place. She interviewed the visitor. As she laid her hand on the handle of the drawing-room door her attentive ear detected a curious sound within.
"I do believe the woman's crying."
She turned the handle. She entered the room. A woman was seated on the extreme edge of a chair. She was indulging in a series of audible sniffs. In the palm of her hand, compressed into a knot which had something of the consistency of a cricket ball, was her handkerchief. This she bobbed first at one eye, then at the other. When Mrs. Harland appeared she rose to her feet. The lady stared at her as if she were a spectre.
"Jane Cooper!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, ma'am."
The woman dropped a curtsey.
"You brazen hussey! How dare you come into my house!"
"If you please, ma'am, I'm come after that boy of mine."
She was a nervous, shrinking, little woman. She had fair hair and a washed-out complexion. Her pale blue eyes were blurred with weeping. She looked as though she had been crying for years. She wore a black silk dress, which was of primitive make, and the seams of which were slightly rusty. Her hands, which were gloveless, were large and red. Her shapeless bonnet had strayed on to the side of her head. Altogether she looked draggled and woebegone.
"You've come after that boy of yours! What do you mean?"