of the stomach
for food, had returned again, and she felt, as she went down stairs,
that unless something to tempt the appetite were set before her, she
could not take a mouthful. There was nothing to tempt the appetite. The
table at which the family had eaten remained just as they had left
it--soiled plates and scraps of broken bread and meat; partly emptied
cups and saucers; dirty knives and forks, spread about in
confusion.--Amid all this, a clean plate had been set for the
seamstress; and Mrs. Lowe awaited her, cold and dignified, at the head
of the table.

"Coffee or tea, Miss Carson?"

"Coffee."

It was a lukewarm decoction of spent coffee grounds, flavored with tin,
and sweetened to nauseousness. Mary took a mouthful and swallowed
it--put the cup again to her lips; but they resolutely refused to
unclose and admit another drop. So she sat the cup down.

"Help yourself to some of the meat." And Mrs. Lowe pushed the dish,
which, nearly three-quarters of an hour before had come upon the table
bearing a smoking sirloin, across to the seamstress. Now, lying beside
the bone, and cemented to the dish by a stratum of chilled gravy, was
the fat, stringy end of the steak. The sight of it was enough for Miss
Carson; and she declined the offered delicacy.

"There's bread." She took a slice from a fresh baker's loaf; and spread
it with some oily-looking butter that remained on one of the butter
plates. It was slightly sour. By forcing herself, she swallowed two or
three mouthfuls. But the remonstrating palate would accept no more.

"Isn't the coffee good?" asked Mrs. Lowe, with a sharp quality in her
voice, seeing that Miss Carson did not venture upon a second mouthful.

"I have very little appetite this morning," was answered, with an
effort to smile and look cheerful.

"Perhaps you'd rather have tea. Shall I give you a cup?" And Mrs. Lowe
laid her hand on the teapot.

"You may, if you please." Mary felt an inward weakness that she knew
was occasioned by lack of food, and so accepted the offer of tea, in
the hope that it might prove more palatable than the coffee. It had the
merit of being hot, and not of decidedly offensive flavor; but it was
little more in strength than sweetened water, whitened with milk. She
drank off the cup, and then left the table, going, with her still wet
feet and skirts to the sewing-room.

"Rather a dainty young lady," she heard Mrs. Lowe remark to the waiter,
as she left the room.