ould, and then, with a sudden, sickening coldness,
she saw that he was not alone. A young, plump, rosy-cheeked girl was
at his side. As they came nearer the girl put her arm into his and said
something. He bent down to her and replied, and she flashed a laugh up
at him. There was a swift interchange of sentences, and they both
laughed together, then they disappeared into the half-crown door.

Mary shrank back into the shadow of the doorway. She had a strange
notion that everybody was trying to look at her, and that they were
all laughing maliciously. After a few moments she stepped out on the
path and walked homewards quickly. She did not hear the noises of the
streets, nor see the promenading crowds. Her face was bent down as she
walked, and beneath the big brim of her straw hat her eyes were
blinded with the bitterest tears she had ever shed.

XV

Next morning her mother was no better. She made no attempt to get out
of bed, and listened with absolute indifference when the morning feet
of the next-door man pounded the stairs. Mary awakened her again and
again, but each time, after saying "All right, dearie," she relapsed
to a slumber which was more torpor than sleep. Her yellow, old-ivory
face was faintly tinged with color; her thin lips were relaxed, and
seemed a trifle fuller, so that Mary thought she looked better in
sickness than in health; but the limp arm lying on the patchwork quilt
seemed to be more skinny than thin, and the hand was more waxen and
claw-like than heretofore.

Mary laid the breakfast on the bed as usual, and again awakened her
mother, who, after staring into vacancy for a few moments, forced
herself to her elbow, and then, with sudden determination, sat up in
the bed and bent her mind inflexibly on her breakfast. She drank two
cups of tea greedily, but the bread had no taste in her mouth, and
after swallowing a morsel she laid it aside.

"I don't know what's up with me at all, at all," said she.

"Maybe it's a cold, mother," replied Mary.

"Do I look bad, now?"

Mary scrutinized her narrowly.

"No," she answered, "your face is redder than it does be, and your eyes
are shiny. I think you look splendid and well. What way do you feel?"

"I don't feel at all, except that I'm sleepy. Give me the glass in my
hand, dearie, till I see what I'm like."

Mary took the glass from the wall and handed it to her.

"I don't look bad at all. A bit of color always suited me. Look at my
tong