“I'd better have paid Mrs. Blake.” This thought crossed my mind, an hour afterwards, by which time the little ornament had lost its power of pleasing. “So much would at least have been saved.”
I was leaving the table, after tea, on the evening that followed, when the waiter said to me,
“Mrs. Blake is at the door, and wishes to see you.”
I felt a little worried at hearing this; for I had no change in my pockets, and the poor washerwoman had, of course, come for her money.
“She's in a great hurry,” I muttered to myself, as I descended to the door.
“You'll have to wait until you bring home my clothes next week, Mrs. Blake. I haven't any change, this evening.”
The expression of the poor woman's face, as she turned slowly away, without speaking, rather softened my feelings.
“I'm sorry,” said I, “but it can't be helped now. I wish you had said, this morning, that you wanted money. I could have paid you then.”
She paused, and turned partly towards me, as I said this. Then she moved off, with something so sad in her manner, that I was touched sensibly.
“I ought to have paid her this morning, when I had the change about me. And I wish I had done so. Why didn't she ask for her money, if she wanted it so badly?”