“What greater good can there be than the redemption of an immortal soul!” quoth Mrs. Brown, implacable in her belief that all the other societies represented in that room were bent on committing some fraud upon her. “What shall it profit a man though he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?”
“Very true,” answered Mrs. Judson. “Very true indeed. Now, shall we walk into the other room, ladies?—representative ladies, I mean. The money has, I trust, been impartially apportioned between charitable societies and private claimants.”
“Private claimants,” muttered Mrs. Brown. “I should like to know who they are.”
“Hush, dearest,” whispered Mr. Brown, who came forward to offer her his arm; “compose yourself; your claims can never be overlooked while I am by.”
“You?” retorted Mrs. Brown, with as much scorn as could be crowded into a low undertone. “Who ever dreamed of depending on you—cheat others, but don’t try it on me.”
“My love, I—I greatly fear you are getting nervous.”
Mrs. Brown snatched her hand indignantly from her husband’s arm, and marched by him in grim silence to the pretty boudoir, where Mrs. Judson was distributing the proceeds of the charity ball with the benign calmness of a saint.
As each lady received her roll of money, she betrayed something more than the usual curiosity of the sex, and was restless to be gone that she might learn the amount. So in a little time the party broke up, and with many thanks and sweet words, the ladies who had missions in the world glided up to the dressing-room where Jane Kelly and Ellen Burns sat waiting.
For two or three minutes Mrs. Brown stood with her back to the busy sisterhood, and both hands were occupied as if arranging her dress, but Jane Kelly caught a sound of rustling paper, and went to the corner where she stood, with a shawl in her hand.
“Shall I help you, ma’am?”