"Indeed, I suppose it just was, ma'am," responded the attendant.
"Are you going to stay here long?" asked the old lady, more briskly than she had yet spoken.
"Raly, ma'am, I don't know," replied Flora.
The old painted termagant shot a glance at her of no pleasant meaning; but for the present checked the impulse in which it had its birth, and repeated softly—"You don't know; why, you are a very innocent, simple little girl."
"Pray, ma'am, if it's not making too bold, which is the room, ma'am?" asked Flora.
"What's your young lady's name?" asked the matron, directly, and disregarding the question of the girl.
Flora Guy hesitated.
"Do you hear me—what's your young lady's name?" repeated the woman, softly, but deliberately.
"Her name, to be sure; her name is Miss Mary," replied she.
"Mary what?" asked Martha.