CHAPTER 12Miss Maud Silver looked up from the card in her hand to the client whom Emma Meadows was ushering in, a short, broad person in the roughest of tweeds, stoutest of brogues, and the most sensible of country hats. Repeating the name which she had just read, Miss Silver said in a tone of mild enquiry,
“Miss Josepha Bowden?”
Her free hand was warmly grasped and wrung.
“How do you do? You have no idea what a relief it is to hear my name pronounced correctly. You have no idea of the number of people who just say Joseph and then add some kind of a little grunt. Most infuriating! It is, of course, pronounced as if the ‘e’ were doubled—Joseepha, and I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gave me to hear you say it properly.”
She seated herself in the chair which had been placed for her
