In the white face under the queer, deep-fringed cap she saw nothing of the morning's traveller.

The newcomer was communicative.

She was a nurse by profession, she said; had come to the Transvaal, hearing that good nurses were needed there.

She had not yet found work.

The landlady did not perhaps know whether there would be any for her in that town?
The landlady put down her knitting and smote her fat hands together.
If it wasn't the very finger of God's providence, as though you saw it hanging out of the sky, she said.