“Why, Mary!” said Mrs. Wykoff.  “How wrong it was in you!”

“May be it was, ma’am; but I couldn’t help it.  I’m foolish sometimes; and it’s hard for us to be anything else than what we are, as my Aunt Hannah used to say.  Well, I sat down to my work with the dull pain in my side, and the sick feeling that always comes at such times, and worked on hour after hour.  You looked in once or twice during the morning to see how I was getting on, and to ask about the trimming for a dress I was making.  Then you went out shopping, and did not get home until half past two o’clock.  For two hours there had been a gnawing at my stomach, and I was faint for something to eat.  Twice I got up to ring the bell, and ask for a lunch; but, I felt backward about taking the liberty.  When, at three o’clock, I was called to dinner, no appetite remained.  I put food into my mouth, but it had no sweetness, and the little I forced myself to swallow, lay undigested.  You were very much occupied, and did not notice me particularly.  I dragged on, as best I could, through the afternoon, feeling, sometimes, as if I would drop from my chair.  You had tea later than usual.  It was nearly seven o’clock when I put up my work and went down.  You said something in a kind, but absent tone, about my looking pale, and asked if I would have a second cup of tea.  I believe I forced myself to eat a slice of bread half as large as my hand.  I thought I should never reach home that night, for the weakness that came upon me.  I got to bed as soon as possible, but was too tired to sleep until after twelve o’clock, when a coughing spell seized me, which brought on the pain in my side.  It was near daylight when I dropped off; and then I slept so heavily for two hours that I was all wet with perspiration when I awoke.  On trying to rise, my head swam so that I had to lie down again, and it was late in the day before I could even sit up in bed.  Towards evening, I was able to drink a cup of tea and eat a small piece of toast and then I felt wonderfully better.  I slept well that night, and was still better in the morning, but did not think it safe to venture out upon a day’s work; so I rested and got all the strength I could.  On the third day, I was as well as ever again.”

Mrs. Wykoff drew a long sigh as Miss Carson stopped speaking and bent down over her sewing.  For some time, she remained without speaking.

“Life is too precious a thing to be wasted in this way,” said the lady, at length, speaking partly to herself, and partly to the seamstress.  “We are too thoughtless, I must own; but you are not blameless.  It is scarcely possible for us to understand just how the case stands with one in your position, and duty to yourself demands that you should make it known.  There is not one lady in ten, I am sure, who would not be pleased rather than annoyed, to have you do so.”

Miss Carson did not answer.

“Do you doubt?” asked Mrs. Wykoff.