“Yes, of course, but”—Miss Maggie was lifting a half-finished sleeve doubtfully—“why didn’t you go to Flora? She’d know exactly—”
Mrs. Jane stiffened.
“Because I can’t afford to go to Flora,” she interrupted coldly. “I have to pay Flora, and you know it. If I had the money I should be glad to do it, of course. But I haven’t, and charity begins at home I think. Besides, I do go to her for new dresses. But this old thing—! Of course, if you don’t want to help me—”
“Oh, but I do,” plunged in Miss Maggie hurriedly. “Come out into the kitchen where we’ll have more room,” she exclaimed, gathering the bundle into her arms and springing to her feet.
“I’ve got some other lace at home—yards and yards. I got a lot, it was so cheap,” recounted Mrs. Jane, rising with alacrity. “But I’m afraid it won’t do for this, and I don’t know as it will do for anything, it’s so—”
The kitchen door slammed sharply, and Mr. Smith heard no more. Half an hour later, however, he saw Mrs. Jane go down the walk. The frown was gone from her face and the droop from the corners of her mouth. Her step was alert and confident. She carried no bundle.
The next day it was Miss Flora. Miss Flora’s thin little face looked more pinched than ever, and her eyes more anxious, Mr. Smith thought. Even her smile, as she acknowledged Mr. Smith’s greeting, was so wan he wished she had not tried to give it.
She sat down then, by the window, and began to chat with Miss Maggie; and very soon Mr. Smith heard her say this:—
“No, Maggie, I don’t know, really, what I am going to do—truly I don’t. Business is so turrible dull! Why, I don’t earn enough to pay my rent, hardly, now, ter say nothin’ of my feed.”
Miss Maggie frowned.