When
she had established them in a little circle, and done her best to draw
Mary, too, into a chair, she sat down quietly, her mind divided between
the cares of courtesy and the alarms of an anxious mother. Mary stood at
the table and waited till the commotion was over. The new-comers thought
she was going to explain her conduct in leaving them; and Mrs. Bowyer, at
least, who was critical in point of manners, shivered a little, wondering
if perhaps (though she could not find it in her heart to blame Mary) her
proceedings were in perfect taste.
"The little girl," Mary said, beginning abruptly. She had been standing
by the table, her lips apart, her countenance utterly pale, her mind
evidently too much absorbed to notice anything. "The little girl has seen
several times a lady going up-stairs. Once she met her and saw her
face, and the lady smiled at her; but her face was sorrowful, and the
child thought she was looking for something. The lady was old, with
white hair done up upon her forehead, and lace upon her head. She was
dressed--" here Mary's voice began to be interrupted from time to time by
a brief sob--"in a long dress that made a soft sound when she walked, and
a white shawl, and the lace tied under her chin in a large soft knot--"
"Mary, Mary!" Mrs. Bowyer had risen and stood behind the girl, in whose
slender throat the climbing sorrow was almost visible, supporting her,
trying to stop her.
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