When they were alone, Miss Pope glanced up with a strange intensity in her lack-lustre eyes.
"You—stay?" The words were barely formed by the woman's shaking lips.
"I think so," Betty murmured in response. "If Mrs. Atterbury likes me."
"Oh, she'll like you, fast enough." Miss Pope looked fearfully behind her as if the shadow of her employer lingered in the doorway. "Before you know it you'll be caught, too, and you'll never be able to get free. Why didn't you go yesterday when I warned you?"
"What did you mean? Mrs. Atterbury is kind and I must earn my living. Why should I leave this place?"
"Because you are young, with all your life before you! I can't explain. I'm taking an awful chance now, but oh! believe me, miss, and go! You'd be better off homeless, in the streets, than here!"
"You must tell me more!" Betty urged. "What is wrong here? What harm can come to me? I cannot give up a good position without even knowing why!"
The seamstress' hands fluttered in a little hopeless gesture, and she laid one finger warningly on her lips. When she spoke, it was in an altered tone.
"Yes, Miss, as you say, a little more fullness here. Mrs. Atterbury will advise me about the draping."
Her ear had been quicker than the girl's, for even as she paused the rustle of a skirt came to them down the hall and the mistress of the house appeared in the doorway. She darted a keen glance from one to the other, but Betty met her eyes calmly, and the seamstress' face was averted.