“Come in, Mrs. Knight.”
The actress entered, saying, with a little pardonable tact—
“Oh, you are putting your child to sleep in the dark. It is singular some little ones never will go to sleep where there is a light burning. Is she asleep?”
“Yes,” replied Zuleime.
“Then please put her in bed, my dear, and come down stairs with me. I have something to talk to you about.”
Zuleime laid her little girl in bed, and tottering with weakness, from her long fast and the cold, accompanied the actress down stairs.
Mrs. Knight opened her own room, and revealed a warm coal fire burning in the grate, and a little supper-table set out, with coffee, French rolls, nice butter, and stewed oysters. She set the cushioned rocking-chair for Zuleime, between the fire and the table, and pushed her gently into the seat, saying—
“I have holyday to-night, and for a week from to-night, because the opera troupe are here. And so I thought I would just celebrate its commencement by a supper and a ball for two!” And she placed before her visitor a plate of oysters and a cup of coffee. When the little supper was fairly commenced, Mrs. Knight said, “I did not send for you, only to take coffee with me—I wished to speak to you on a matter of business. I have been wishing some time to do so, but scarcely knew how to do it without wounding or offending you.” She paused.
“Ah! are you so considerate? Yet you need not fear—I know you could not think of anything to say which would—
“At least, I only mean your good, and if I err, you will forgive me.”