Upon the table stood a basket filled with purchases, and near the basket lay a shawl which Janey wore upon all occasions requiring a toilet. She had just come in from her shopping, and sat on a stool in her usual posture, not having yet removed the large bonnet which spread its brim around her small face, a respectable and steady-going aureole enlivened with bunches of flowers which in their better days had rejoiced Mrs. Briarley's heart with exceeding great joy. She looked up as he came in, but she did not rise. "Eh! it's thee, is it?" she remarked. "I thowt it wur toime tha wur comin'. Tha'st not been here fur nigh a month." "I have been--doing a great deal." "Aye," she answered. "I suppose so." She jerked her thumb toward Granny Dixon's basket chair, which stood empty. "She's takken down," she said. "She wur takken down a week sin', an' a noice toime we're ha'in' nursin' her. None on us can do anything wi' her but mother--_she_ can settle her, thank th' Amoighty." She rested her sharp little elbows upon her knees and her chin upon both palms and surveyed him with interest. "Has tha seed him?" she demanded suddenly. "Who?" he asked. "Him," with a nod of her head. "Th' furriner as is stayin' at Mester Ffrench's. Yo' mun ha' seen him. He's been theer three days." "I saw him this evening." "I thowt tha mun ha' seed him. He coom o' Monday. He coom fro' France. I should na," with a tone of serious speculation,--"I should na ha' thowt she'd ha' had a Frenchman." She moved her feet and settled herself more conveniently without moving her eyes from his face. "I dunnot think much o' Frenchmen mysen," she proceeded. "An' neyther does mother, but they say as this is a rich un an' a grand un. She's lived i' France a good bit, an' happen she does na' moind their ways. She's knowed him afore." "When?" he asked. "When she wur theer. She lived theer, yo' know." Yes, he remembered, she had lived there. He said nothing more, only sat watching the little stunted figure and sharp small face with a sense of mild fascination, wondering dully how much she knew and where she had learned it all, and what she would say next. But she gave him no further information--chiefly because she had no more on hand, there being a limit even to her sagacity. She became suddenly interested in himself. "Yo're as pale as if yo'd had th' whoopin'-cough," she remarked. "What's wrong wi' yo'?" "I am tired," he answered. "Worn out." That was true enough, but it did not satisfy her. Her matter of fact and matronly mind arrived at a direct solution of the question. "Did yo' ivver think," she put it to him, "as she'd ha' yo'?" He had no answer to give her. He began to turn deathly white about the lips. She surveyed him with increased interest and proceeded: