She had no words with which to beseech the intervention of the All-Powerful; but words were not needed, her very attitude was a prayer, her want of words a confession of the extremity of her need. It was impossible for her to do anything more for herself. She knelt there and waited for assistance.
Now it happened that Mrs. Austin, on an errand to her grocer's, meeting her son Sam, as he was driving away with his empty cab, learnt the truth about Doris's failure from him, greatly to her disappointment.
"Oh, poor dear young lady!" she cried, "what will she do now? Whatever will she do now? Painting was the only thing she could do?"
"Well, she'll have to do something else," said Sam, "since those picture-dealers won't 'ave her work."
"But what else can she do?" ejaculated Mrs. Austin in consternation.
Sam did not know; but he was obliged to drive on, having spent more time than he could afford on Miss Anderson's business that morning. Mrs. Austin returned home, and, by way of comforting Doris, set the kettle on, and began to prepare a little meal for her. As she was thus busily engaged the door-latch was raised, and a youth entered dressed as a shop-boy and bearing a family resemblance to the Austins.
"Good afternoon, aunt," he said, looking round the room with sharp eyes that noted everything.
"Good afternoon. I suppose you are in want of a bite or a sup?" she remarked sagaciously.
"Well, I do feel a bit of a sinking here," and he made a rapid gesture indicative of hunger.
"Sit you down then; I'm just making a little dinner ready, and a cup of tea for my lady-lodger, and you shall have some too, Sandy, if you'll wait."