There wouldn't be time now. She had twice as many orders as she had been
able to fill. It would have been so delightful to have gone shopping
with a whole pocket full of money which she had earned herself.

She looked at the clock and then back again at the black-bordered card
on the table. "Mrs. Robertson Redmond." She had never heard of her.
Burning with curiosity, she tried to imagine what possible motive the
stranger had for calling. It was unpardonable that a mere school-girl
should keep a lady waiting so long; a lady in mourning, too, who since
she could not be making social calls, must have a very important reason
for coming. Fidgeting with impatience she bent over the kettle, testing
the hot liquid once more by dropping a spoonful into a cup of cold
water. Still it refused to harden. Finally with a despairing sigh she
slipped off her apron and turned down the gas so low that only a thin
blue circle of flame flickered under the kettle. "In that way it can't
boil over and it can't get cold," she thought. Then she washed her hands
and hurried down to the drawing room.

Until that moment she had forgotten that A.O. was there with her
"suitor," but one hasty glance was all she had time to give him. The
tall lady in black was rising from her chair, was trailing forward to
meet her, was exclaiming in that low full voice which had so impressed
the footman. "Ah! Joyce Ware's own little sister! You've probably never
heard of me, dear, but I've heard of _you_, often. And I knew that Joyce
would want me to take back some message direct from you, so I just came
out to-night for a glimpse."

Not giving the bewildered Mary opportunity to speak a word, she drew her
to a seat beside her and went on rapidly, talking about Joyce and the
success she was making in New York, and the many friends she had among