"Who is it?"

"I don't know. She wants to see--Mrs. Maxwell."

Lois looked full at her mother; her eyes were like an angel's before
evil. Mrs. Field looked back at her. Then she turned toward the door.

Lois caught hold of her mother's dress. Mrs. Field twitched it away
fiercely, and passed on into the sitting-room. The woman stood there
waiting. She had followed Lois in.

"How do you do, Mis' Maxwell?" she said.

"I'm pretty well, thank you," replied Mrs. Field, looking at her with
stiff inquiry.

The woman had a pale, pretty face, and stood with a sturdy set-back
on her heels. "I guess you don't know me, Mis' Maxwell," said she,
smiling deprecatingly.

Mrs. Field tried to smile, but her lips were too stiff. "I guess
I--don't," she faltered.

The smile faded from the woman's face. She cast an anxious glance at
her own face in the glass over the mantel-shelf; she had placed
herself so she could see it. "I ain't got quite so much color as I
used to have," she said, "but I ain't thought I'd changed much other
ways. Some days I have more color. I know I ain't this mornin'. I
ain't had very good health. Maybe that's the reason you don't know
me."