“Do you want me?” she asked coldly. The unæsthetic colours offended her.
“Please, my lady!”
“I am not ‘my lady.’”
Joan was abashed, and retreated a step.
“I am Miss Inglett. What do you want?”
“I was going to make so bold, my la— I mean, miss——.” Joan became crimson with shame at so nearly transgressing again. “This is Samuel Ceely.”
Arminell nodded. She was impatient, and wanted to be at home. She looked at the man whose pale eyes quivered.
“Is he your husband?” asked Arminell.
“No, miss, not exactly. Us have been keeping company twenty years—no more. How many years is it since us first took up wi’ each other, Samuel?”
“Nigh on twenty-two. Twenty-two.”