Floy was called and the question laid before her.
The result was as Hetty had predicted—an evident struggle with pride, then a thankful acceptance of the offer. Health was far too valuable to be lightly thrown away, and—ah, how many strange faces would present themselves to her view in the houses to which she was sent, on the sidewalks, and in the street-cars, and who could tell that the one she so longed to find might not be among them!
It was assigned to her to carry home the work she had completed the night before, and when the late hour arrived at which a fashionable lady might be supposed ready to receive such a call she set out upon the by no means agreeable errand.
The air was keen and cold, but the sun shone brightly, and she found her walk of some half dozen squares bracing and enjoyable.
It was to a very handsome residence in a fashionable quarter of the city that she had been sent.
The servant who answered her ring left her standing in the hall while he carried away the package she had brought. Presently he returned with a request that she would follow it.
“Miss Carrie wants you to see it tried on, so’s you can fix it if ’tain’t all right,” he said.
He led her up a flight of marble stairs, broad and low, with an elegantly-carved balustrade, and over softly-carpeted floors to a richly-furnished boudoir, where three young girls, in elegant morning dresses, lounged upon the sofas, taking their ease as though life had no serious duties for them and time were given only to be frittered away.
Floy was conscious that the three pairs of eyes were levelled at her on her entrance, but bore the ordeal with quiet dignity.