“I think not.”

“Well, it’s hard to say who deserves most censure, you or she.  Such trifling with health and life is a crime.  What’s the matter?” She observed Mary start as if from sudden pain.

“I have suffered all day, with an occasional sharp stitch in my side—­it caught me just then.”

Mrs. Grant observed her more closely; while doing so, Mary coughed two or three times.  The cough was tight and had a wheezing sound.

“Have you coughed much?” she asked.

“Not a great deal.  But I’m very tight here,” laying her hand over her breast.  “I think,” she added, a few moments afterwards, “that I’ll go up to my room and get to bed.  I feel tired and sick.”

“Wait until I can get you some tea,” replied Mrs. Grant.  “I’ll bring down a pillow, and you can lie here on the sofa.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Grant.  You are so kind and thoughtful.”  Miss Carson’s voice shook a little.  The contrast between the day’s selfish indifference of Mrs. Lowe, and the evening’s motherly consideration of Mrs. Grant, touched her.  “I will lie down here for a short time.  Perhaps I shall feel better after getting some warm tea.  I’ve been chilly all day.”

The pillow and a shawl were brought, and Mrs. Grant covered Mary as she lay upon the sofa; then she went to the kitchen to hurry up tea.

“Come, dear,” she said, half an hour afterwards, laying her hand upon the now sleeping girl.  A drowsy feeling had come over Mary, and she had fallen into a heavy slumber soon after lying down.  The easy touch of Mrs. Grant did not awaken her.  So she called louder, and shook the sleeper more vigorously.  At this, Mary started up, and looked around in a half-conscious, bewildered manner.  Her cheeks were like scarlet.

“Come, dear—­tea is ready,” said Mrs. Grant.

“Oh!  Yes.”  And Mary, not yet clearly awake, started to leave the room instead of approaching the table.

“Where are you going, child?” Mrs. Grant caught her arm.

Mary stood still, looking at Mrs. Grant, in a confused way.

“Tea is ready.”  Mrs. Grant spoke slowly and with emphasis.

“Oh!  Ah!  Yes.  I was asleep.”  Mary drew her hand across her eyes two or three times, and then suffered Mrs. Grant to lead her to the table, where she sat down, leaning forward heavily upon one arm.

“Take some of the toast,” said Mrs. Grant, after pouring a cup of tea.  Mary helped herself, in a dull way, to a slice of toast, but did not attempt to eat.  Mrs. Grant looked at her narrowly from across the table, and noticed that her eyes, which had appeared large and glittering when she came home, were now lustreless, with the lids drooping heavily.

“Can’t you eat anything?” asked Mrs. Grant, in a voice that expressed concern.

Mary pushed her cup and plate away, and leaning back, wearily, in her chair, answered—­

“Not just now.  I’m completely worn out, and feel hot and oppressed.”