"We never make fire in the heater before November," answered Mrs. Lowe, with the manner of one who felt annoyed.

Mrs. Wykoff mused for some moments.

"Excuse me," she said, "for asking such minute questions; but I know Miss Carson's extreme delicacy, and I am fearful that she is sick, as the result of a cold. Did you notice her when she came in on Monday morning?"

"Yes. I was standing in the hall when the servant admitted her. She came rather late."

"Did she go immediately to the room where she was to work?"

"Yes."

"You are sure she didn't go into the kitchen and dry her feet?"

"She went up stairs as soon as she came in."

"Did you go up with her?"

"Yes."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Lowe," said Mrs. Wykoff, who saw that these questions were chafing her visitor, "for pressing my inquiries so closely. I am much concerned at the fact of her absence from your house since Monday.

Did she change any of her clothing,--take off her stockings, for stance, and put on dry ones?"

"Nothing of the kind."

"But sat in her wet shoes and stockings all day!"

"I don't know that they were wet, Mrs. Wykoff," said the lady, with contracting brows.

"Could you have walked six or seven squares in the face of Monday's driving storm, Mrs. Lowe, and escaped wet feet? Of course not. Your stockings would have been wet half way to the knees, and your skirts also."

There was a growing excitement about Mrs. Wykoff, united with an air of so much seriousness, that Mrs. Lowe began to feel a pressure of alarm.

Selfish, cold-hearted and indifferent to all in a social grade beneath her, this lady was not quite ready to stand up in the world's face as one without common humanity. The way in which Mrs. Wykoff was presenting the case of Miss Carson on that stormy morning, did not reflect very creditably upon her; and the thought--"How would this sound, if told of me?"--did not leave her in the most comfortable frame of mind.

"I hope she's not sick. I'm sure the thought of her being wet never crossed my mind. Why didn't she speak of it herself? She knew her own condition, and that there was fire in the kitchen. I declare! some people act in a manner perfectly incomprehensible." Mrs. Lowe spoke now in a disturbed manner.

"Miss Carson should have looked to this herself, and she was wrong in not doing so--very wrong," said Mrs. Wykoff. "But she is shrinking and sensitive to a fault--afraid of giving trouble or intruding herself.

_It is our place, I think, when strangers come into our houses, no matter under what circ.u.mstances, to a.s.sume that they have a natural delicacy about asking for needed consideration, and to see that all things due to them are tendered_. I cannot see that any exceptions to this rule are admissible. To my thinking, it applies to a servant, a seamstress, or a guest, each in a just degree, with equal force. Not that I am blameless in this thing. Far from it. But I acknowledge my fault whenever it is seen, and repenting, resolve to act more humanely in the future."

"Where does Miss Carson live?" asked Mrs. Lowe. "I came to make the inquiry."

"As I feel rather troubled about her," answered Mrs. Wykoff, "I will go to see her this afternoon."

"I wish you would. What you have said makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I hope there is nothing wrong; or, at least, that she is only slightly indisposed. It was thoughtless in me. But I was so much interested in the work she was doing that I never once thought of her personally."

"Did she come before breakfast?"

"Oh, yes."

"Excuse me; but at what time did she get her breakfast?"

There was just a little shrinking in the manner of Mrs. Wykoff; as she answered--

"Towards nine o'clock."

"Did she eat anything?"

"Well, no, not much in particular. I thought her a little dainty. She took coffee; but it didn't just appear to suit her appet.i.te. Then I offered her tea, and she drank a cup."

"But didn't take any solid food?"

"Very little. She struck me as a dainty Miss."

"She is weak and delicate, Mrs. Lowe, as any one who looks into her face may see. Did you give her a lunch towards noon?"

"A lunch! Why no!" Mrs. Lowe elevated her brows.

"How late was it when she took dinner?"

"Three o'clock."

"Did she eat heartily?"

"I didn't notice her particularly. She was at the table for only a few minutes."

"I fear for the worst," said Mrs. Wykoff. "If Mary Carson sat all day on Monday in damp clothes, wet feet, and without taking a sufficient quant.i.ty of nourishing food, I wouldn't give much for her life."

Mrs. Lowe gathered her shawl around her, and arose to depart. There was a cloud on her face.

"You will see Miss Carson to-day?" she said.

"Oh, yes."

"At what time do you think of going?"

"I shall not be able to leave home before late in the afternoon."

"Say four o'clock."

"Not earlier than half past four."

Mrs. Lowe stood for some moments with the air of one who hesitated about doing something.

"Will you call for me?" Her voice was slightly depressed.

"Certainly."

"What you have said troubles me. I'm sure I didn't mean to be unkind.

It was thoughtlessness altogether. I hope she's not ill."