"Is this Winifred?" she said, looking, it might be, a little shocked and a little sorrowful at the pale and mind-worn face that used to be so round and rosy; and about which the soft fair hair still clustered as abundantly as ever.
"Yes ma'am," Winifred said, half rising.
"Don't get up, — don't you know me?"
Winnie's eye keenly scanned the bright fresh face that bent over her, but she shook her head and said 'no'.
"Can't you remember my being at your house — some time ago? — me and" she stopped. "Don't you remember? We spent a good while there — one summer — it was when you were a little girl."
"O!" — said Winnie, — "are you —"
"Yes."
"I remember. But you were not so large then, either."
"I am not very large now," said her visiter, taking a chair beside Winnie's couch.
"No. But I didn't know you."