“That is well. Has Miss Kemper come?”
Mary answered the query, and made a report of the work and directions she had given Floy, at the same time busying herself in assisting the Madame with her toilet.
That week was a busy one to Floy, yet restful also, albeit she was somewhat sated with the Madame’s company, often wearying enough to those who must listen to her complainings and submit to her whims.
Yet she was at times quite entertaining. Frisky’s little tricks, too, were really very amusing. Besides, Floy had every day several quiet, usually solitary hours—while the Madame slept—was fed upon the fat of the land, and retired to bed reasonably early each night.
On returning to Mrs. Sharp’s, she was not grieved to learn that the young people had already left for school.
Work slackened slightly for a few weeks, then again, as the spring season opened, they were almost overwhelmed with it.
And this was the state of affairs until the fervid heats of summer began to drive the fashionables away from the city.
Even then there was small respite, for some left unfinished dresses to be sent after them, and many who remained behind wanted work done also.
In all this time Floy had heard but once from Cranley—a few lines from Miss Wells telling of the death of Espy’s mother, and that he had gone she knew not whither.
“Gone!” Floy’s heart almost stood still with grief and pain; but the next instant gave a quick, joyous bound at the thought, “It may be he has but come here in search of me.”