As the clock told the hour of midnight Floy stuck the needle in her work and began to fold it up.
“Ten minutes more would finish that, Miss Kemper, so that it could be sent home in the morning,” said Mrs. Sharp persuasively.
“I am very, very weary, Mrs. Sharp,” returned the young girl respectfully; “yet to accommodate you and the customer I would work on a little longer, but it is already the Lord’s day, and the command is, ‘In it thou shalt not do any work.’”
A portentous frown was darkening the face of her employer, but it changed to an expression of enforced resignation as Hetty said:
“You’re right, Floy. Aunt Prue, I can’t go on any longer; and indeed what right has anybody to ask us to work as late as this?”
Mrs. Sharp sat in moody silence for a moment, but, being greatly fatigued herself, presently acquiesced and followed their example, remarking:
“Well, well, girls, I don’t blame you. There really is no use in killing ourselves, for nobody’ll thank us for it.”
“Whatever should I do without you, Hetty!” said Floy as they two went up the stairs together.
Monday morning brought a note that greatly vexed Mrs. Sharp, but to our heroine seemed a Heaven-sent relief.
To the usual discomforts of the work-room were now added almost incessant squabbling between Lucian and Araminta, the whining complaints of the latter and the sickening scent of the cheap cigars frequently indulged in by the former.