"It is cold to-night," she said affably to the shy girl standing in the doorway, but without looking at her.
"Yes, ma'am," said Janet, and the next moment she could have bitten her tongue out for the mistake.
"Oh, how I wish I had never come," she said a score of times to herself as she went up the stairs.
But it was too late to turn back.
"What name?" said the daintily-capped maiden, with the curl of her nostril a little more accentuated.
For a moment Janet was so taken aback that she could not even remember her own name.
"Janet," she stammered; "Janet—from Bailie Holden's."
The maid's face broadened into a smile, at sight of which poor Janet's lip quivered, and for a moment she thought that she must burst out crying. Scarcely was she able to keep back the welling tears. But the door was a little open, and she saw Miss Celie, whom she already knew and loved. The sight of that pleasant face, dimpling and flashing all over with bright kindness, reassured her.
"Say 'Janet Urquhart'!" she said, with a little faltering return of assurance in her voice.