When Mrs. Thorpe met her in the dining-room the next morning, there was something in the woman's face that for a moment appealed to her. A careworn face it was, not beautiful, but stamped unmistakably with an expression of refinement. For a moment the mistress hesitated; should she meet her cordially, gain her confidence and make a friend of her? The girlish impulse lasted but a second, and Mrs. Thorpe had herself well in hand again, and she covered what she believed to be her weakness with a somewhat severer dignity than she had assumed before, and came at once to business.
After arriving at a satisfactory understanding in regard to the work, they came to the question of hours.
"You are to have one afternoon each week, and the service hour on Sunday; the rest of your time I shall expect you to spend here," Mrs. Thorpe announced.
A sudden flush spread over Mrs. McGowan's face. She did not reply, but bowed her head in assent, and Mrs. Thorpe, satisfied with the interview, went at once to other duties.
In the kitchen a grim-faced woman went steadily about her work; but there was something in her countenance that made one believe the world not always kind to the children of men.
"Yet, after all," she thought, "what does it matter, if only Margaret gets through the school." And at the thought of her girl, her bonny Margaret, her heart grew warm within her.
The days passed by, and Mrs. Thorpe adhered with rigid precision to the rules and regulations she had established in her home, and devoted her leisure time in a systematic manner to the various societies and organizations conducted by the church.
Returning home one afternoon earlier than she had expected, she went to the kitchen on some small errand and found that Mary was not in. She waited for her return, and confronted her with unruffled mien.
"What excuse have you to offer for your absence this afternoon?" she asked.
"I have no excuse to offer."