Juliet could not have explained—perhaps it could not be explained—how it was that the death of baby during her absence seemed to be connected with her bad conduct. It is certain that this sudden shock affected her greatly. It was, as it were, a break in her life; her old ill-tempered, unteachable childhood went into the past, and a gentle womanhood sprang up in the future. For the present there was a sad, humble, penitent girl.
When she began once more to know what was going on in that room, she found that Mrs. Webster was telling Mrs. Mitchell, in very mild terms, of the reasons why Juliet was sent home.
"I am quite a stranger," said the lady, "and I feel myself an intruder in your time of sorrow. You have my deepest sympathy. And I trust that Juliet will henceforth do better. She has had some severe lessons. Do you think your husband would be stronger if he lived in the country?"
"Yes, ma'am; the doctor at the dispensary says that country air would do wonders for him. But then he can't leave his work; it is no use to live in the country and have a good appetite if you have no means of getting victuals for your appetite."
"No, of course not," said Mrs. Webster.
"We are doing better now," continued Mrs. Mitchell. "He's at work again, and Miss Sutton—that's a kind lady—is trying to bring us women face to face with our employers and no middleman between. But I don't know how it will act. I've done work for Miss Sutton and her friends, but the same people don't keep on wanting mantles. I could have borne anything if I hadn't to make up crape for ourselves!"
Mrs. Webster pressed Mrs. Mitchell's hand kindly, and took her leave.
