Goldsmith.
Madame Le Conte did not appear again that evening.
Floy returned to her work upon the new gown immediately upon leaving the table, and did not lay it aside again until the clock struck ten.
Then Kathleen showed her to an adjoining bedroom, whose appointments seemed to carry her back to the happy days when she was the loved and petted only child of well-to-do parents. Less than a year ago she had seen the last of them, but how far, far away they already seemed!
The young heart was sore with grief and care, and not for itself alone. But the worn-out body must have rest, and all was soon forgotten in sound, refreshing sleep.
She woke in the dull gray light of the winter morning and sprang up instantly, half trembling with affright at thought of the lateness of the hour.
At Mrs. Sharp’s, breakfast was long since over. To-morrow was Christmas, and, though not expecting either to go out or to receive company at home, the Madame must have her new dress to wear on that occasion.
But no one found fault with Floy; the buxom Kathleen had an excellent breakfast ready for her, and greeting her cheerily with “The top o’ the mornin’ to ye, miss,” waited upon her with a smiling face.
She took her meal alone, as on the previous day, and had the cosey work-room to herself for a couple of hours; then the Madame waddled in, wheezing and groaning, dropped into a chair, and told a pitiful tale of her wearisome night and Mary’s crossness, weeping and sighing as she talked.