The case had become complicated with pneumonia, and assumed a very dangerous type.  On the third day a consulting physician was called in.  He noted all the symptoms carefully, and with a seriousness of manner that did not escape the watchful eyes of Mrs. Grant.  He passed but few words with the attendant physician, and their exact meaning was veiled by medical terms; but Mrs. Grant understood enough to satisfy her that little hope of a favorable issue was entertained.

About the time this consultation over the case of Mary Carson was in progress, it happened that Mrs. Wykoff received another visit from Mrs. Lowe.

“I’ve called,” said the latter, speaking in the tone of one who felt annoyed, “to ask where that sewing girl you recommended to me lives?”

“Miss Carson.”

“Yes, I believe that is her name.”

“Didn’t she come on Monday, according to appointment?”

“Oh, yes, she came.  But I’ve seen nothing of her since.”

“Ah!  Is that so?  She may be sick.”  The voice of Mrs. Wykoff dropped to a shade of seriousness.  “Let me see—­Monday—­didn’t it rain?—­Yes, now I remember; it was a dreadful day.  Perhaps she took cold.  She’s very delicate.  Did she get wet in coming to your house?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”  There was a slight indication of annoyance on the part of Mrs. Lowe.

“It was impossible, raining and blowing as it did, for her to escape wet feet, if not drenched clothing.  Was there fire in the room where she worked?”

“Fire!  No.  We don’t have grates or stoves in any of our rooms.”

“Oh; then there was a fire in the heater?”

“We never make fire in the heater before November,” answered Mrs. Lowe, with the manner of one who felt annoyed.

Mrs. Wykoff mused for some moments.

“Excuse me,” she said, “for asking such minute questions; but I know Miss Carson’s extreme delicacy, and I am fearful that she is sick, as the result of a cold.  Did you notice her when she came in on Monday morning?”

“Yes.  I was standing in the hall when the servant admitted her.  She came rather late.”

“Did she go immediately to the room where she was to work?”

“Yes.”

“You are sure she didn’t go into the kitchen and dry her feet?”

“She went up stairs as soon as she came in.”

“Did you go up with her?”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Lowe,” said Mrs. Wykoff, who saw that these questions were chafing her visitor, “for pressing my inquiries so closely.  I am much concerned at the fact of her absence from your house since Monday.  Did she change any of her clothing,—­take off her stockings, for stance, and put on dry ones?”

“Nothing of the kind.”

“But sat in her wet shoes and stockings all day!”

“I don’t know that they were wet, Mrs. Wykoff,” said the lady, with contracting brows.

“Could you have walked six or seven squares in the face of Monday’s driving storm, Mrs. Lowe, and escaped wet feet?  Of course not.  Your stockings would have been wet half way to the knees, and your skirts also.”