As Faith looked at her she could see plainly the stamp of death upon her brow. Her cheeks were bloodless and her eyes were sunken.
After eleven o'clock the girls took turns in going to their luncheons. Some repaired to the basement lunch room, while others who could afford it patronized the nearby restaurants.
It was a pleasant surprise to Faith when Miss Jennings joined her in the lunch room. She had a paper bag in her hand, while Faith carried a small basket.
Almost instinctively the two girls drew away from the others. There was a bond of sympathy between them that they could not account for.
"Do tell me your name," whispered Miss Jennings at once. "It does sound so 'shoppy' to be always saying 'packer.'"
She had opened her bag and taken out a cracker. It was evident that there was no time to be wasted in lunching.
"Call me Faith, if you will. I should like to have you so much! I think it will make me feel a little less strange," was the impulsive answer.
"I will if you'll call me Mary," replied Miss Jennings. "I've just been longing to talk to you all the morning, but there's no dodging Miss Fairbanks' eye; it's always upon you."
"Are we not supposed to speak at all?" asked Faith, who was forgetting to eat her luncheon.
"Oh, yes, we can speak, but not if there are customers waiting. But, tell me, how do you happen to be a packer? You are too old for that kind of work, and quite too clever, I'm sure," said Miss Jennings kindly.